


Broken and Retied Once More

by GenuineSoftBoy



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Red String of Fate, multi life love story hooray, pining and yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenuineSoftBoy/pseuds/GenuineSoftBoy
Summary: A Guardian, always paranoid of the weight of his prior life, is finally given the answers he feared having when rumors of a familiar face haunt the Reef and Dreaming City once again.
Relationships: Crow/Male Guardian, uldren sov/male guardian
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

"My sympathies. I dreamt of their passing. The worlds. Those who remained… and the shadow that hung over them."

"I'm afraid the Dreaming City hasn't fared well since the Darkness swept through our system. You can taste the difference in the air. It is as if there is a war being fought within smoke, bending around us and slipping through our hair, leaving nothing but scorched scent. I do not enjoy being left out of the loop, but we persevere."

...

"There's one more thing. A rumor."

...

"The Prince lives."

...

"Impossible, I know. But if it's more than a rumor, I don't want to hear it from a report."

…

“It grieves you. I can see it. I...I do not wish for such ideas to break you, cousin. We need you at your strongest. We need everything you can give. I know it is selfish to ask but…”

…

“Maybe it’s time you were shown out of the dark. I should not have kept it from you for so long. Will you...will you come with me? Will you face what I know you already fear?”

…

“Guardian, I-”

“Okay.”

~~~

He knew why they were here but still he stared with wide eyed wonder, walked carefully and slowly as though not to disturb the dust that laid across each inch of floor. Candles still waited to be lit in decrypt holders. Books with softened covers still lined shelves. Papers still spilled from a desk in front of a closed window. The wallpaper was faded and pale but the tiny flowers within the washed yellow still drew his eye. Even where the blue paint chipped from the petals, the white echo of their shape remained. Soxkt did not have to try to ignore Petra as he leaned in close, wiping his thumb over the delicate walls. A plume of dust danced in the air and he sneezed. The sound was enough of a cue to give Petra a voice again.

“I can’t be away for long. You may stay as long as you like after I go. I just need you to see…see...”

Soxkt didn’t want her to struggle any more than she already was and feel forced to give any more words to this horrible situation than she had to. He took the bow from his back and leaned it against one of the shelves before walking to where she called. A bedroom door was open to him, waiting.

It was...neat. Quaint. Though she said it had all been untouched, it was not nearly as lived in as he feared it might have been. The sheets were tucked tight. Everything was neatly arrayed on the nightstand- the empty holster, the dried flowers, the porcelain urn. Someone had certainly cleaned this room before- hoping he might come back to a clean space? Or as a symbolic goodbye for the last time? He looked to see Petra half engulfed in a closet, her gun laid across the top cover of the bed as she rummaged through boxes and tightly packed together rows of hung cloth. Soxkt took the distracted moment to grasp the urn in both hands from the nightstand. The porcelain was frigid and it’s grim coated his palms. He rotated it gently and almost dropped it in shock- it was weighty. The contents shifted as it turned. 

He slowly looked at the stopper. His stomach churned. He felt a draw that no internal turmoil could supersede. Slowly, his fingers grasped the crystalline top of the stopper.

“Found it!”

Petra’s victorious hiss pulled Soxkt from his stupor and he placed the urn back onto the nightstand quickly, cleaning his hands on the front of his pants. He wondered what was wrong with him but he didn’t have a moment to answer the question. With a grunt, Petra pulled away from the closet and he understood her struggle now. Piled in her arms was an assortment of garments she had clearly worked to pull out all at once, perhaps to not be forced to linger on any one piece for longer than required. She set the black fabric down carefully onto a chair. It was hard to discern any single piece amidst of all the dark velvet but one piece sat out clearly above the rest, resting atop the pile- a single shoulder pauldron in the shape of a black bird’s head, an inset amethyst for an eye set within the black feathers, it’s mighty beak matte and sharp tipped.

They both stared at the chair as though seated upon it was a corpse and not the mere remnants of someone long dead, as though if they looked away, it might reanimate and walk among them again.

“Regalia, of course. Not typical uniform.” Petra said awkwardly into the quiet, answering a question Soxkt hadn’t even considered yet.

“I know. I’ve seen Crow uniforms.” His voice was hollow. He couldn’t break eye contact with the pauldron. He could see Petra grimace out of the edge of his vision.

“This...this wasn’t Crow regalia either, cousin. Soxkt. It was...” Soxkt met her stare. He was waiting for her to go on but her lips were puckered tight. She was waiting for him as much as he was for her. His mind raced through every title he heard within the Dreaming City, every rank, every faction of the Awoken military, but how could she expect him to know any of that, how could she expect him to know-

His jaw slackened. She didn’t expect him to know what he couldn’t know. He could only know...

“...Mine. It’s...my regalia?”

Petra’s “oh” broke with tears and her head dropped fast, a rage quickly swallowing her sorrow and she balled her hands into fists, one impacting the wall behind her, the force sending a tremor up her body that resolidified her person again. Her hurt was hard to watch but her wrath was used to overcoming such things.

“It wasn’t fair he had to see you once more at the end.” The whisper was directed to the pauldron or maybe mostly to herself. When she raised her head again, the anger remained, and it pierced through Soxkt, deep into his marrow, looking at a man who slumbered beneath his scars. Her mouth was a snarl. “You...I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but a friend and an ally. A confidant. But this is one burden you will have to carry with me. I can not carry it alone.”

“Let me tell you...about the Raven.”

…

Petrarch Wyn was not a good person. He was not bad either, most likely. Soxkt always knew people were more than the binary of those choices but the Light and Dark had made the splitting of such two things a little easier on the mind. Despite what others said, he believed what makes you a person is not what makes you a good person or a bad person. Humor, charm, intelligence, bravery, loyalty, none of that made a person good or lack of such things did not make you bad. It all laid in action. It all laid in what you left behind.

And Petrarch left behind a lot.

Petra herself was not born within the Distributary. She could not say how true those stories were, the ones whispered in her time training with the Techeuns, with the corsairs, whispered over bar tops and in between market stalls growing up: stories of a man who led a gaggle of hedonistic free thinkers who planted discourse and unrest wherever they went. A war for an idea, a thought, the kind of war that could turn the right wrong person into a wordsmith. A man who grew so silver tongued he convinced immortals in the gardens of paradise to battle. A man who tried to cast himself back into the Reef and was cast away from his people in exile...only to return like a dream from the mists within this very city years later.

Petra spoke more assuredly here. The story defined itself from the dreamy run of watercolors from second hand legends to stark lines, shapes easy to grasp again, backed by memory sound and true. She bore witness to much of his time on the Reef from the sidelines, a passive viewer. Petrarch became a soldier within the ranks of the Crows upon his arrival, distrusted and undervalued. He proved himself through might and will, through his fists and little else. What drove him was unknown but it garnered the attention of the Master of Crows and eventually...his good graces. Soon, his luck began to turn, as it always seemed to. The stories of his victories began to edge out the stories of his snakeskin and betrayals. The Master of Crows encouraged the turnaround of his people where once he stood vigilant that Petrarch should be disgraced forever by his past actions.

“It all went so far as to, one day, His Highness decided...it was time to cement your place amongst our people’s history. Just as Sjur had by becoming the first Queen’s Wrath, he wanted to surprise Mara and make you a first as well. He never wanted to other you from the Crows, though- you had been othered for far too long. You were proud of your place in them. And so…” She stopped then. She had been pulling at the tufts of fur that surrounded her collar. Soxkt had felt the urge to stop her at some point, wondering if she would pluck herself clean. But now she froze, staring at her fingers, and then, strangest of all, she smiled.

“Do you wish to try it on? I know how much this all is. I know it must seem impossible as well. An awfully convenient tale to keep you close considering the rumors floating around. I reckon though if you see for yourself...might make everything run a little smoother.”

Of course he doesn’t. He stood from the edge of the bed anyways and wordlessly, Petra walked from the bedroom, grabbing her rifle and shutting the door behind her. Soxkt waited. He half expected to hear her screaming and smashing things in the kitchen. He knew he would’ve joined her if he heard it. But the house rang as empty as it had since he entered and his sigh was the only noise to fill the room.

“So...let me see if I got this.” Ventriloquist started as Soxkt began to for the first time in a while undress his own armor by hand. “Petrarch Wyn was an exile from the Awoken after he took part in some war and came out the other side with nothing but blood on his hands. He ended up back in the Dreaming City somehow years later, became an elite soldier, and then somehow rose to great acclaim within his position and in the hearts of his people. And...what? Why have you never been approached before now? How come we never heard any of this from anyone before? It’s no story that’s been passed around. It doesn’t even cover how he died or your scars!”

“We’re missing a lot of information.” Soxkt agreed. “But...I’m sure she’ll tell us more in a moment.” His tongue felt numb in his mouth. The armor reminded him of Hunter’s in a way but it was assuredly for pageantry more than combat- the intricate work of the breast plate, the fine dark under armor that cooled against his skin, it would be in pieces in a day of his typical life. The gauntlets he picked up, though, were different. The fabric within felt coarse and yet thinned by time and wear. He turned his arm. The tops were covered in rows of perfectly detailed feathers that stretched from his forearm to the second knuckle, the silver metal glinting coldly. 

“I don’t want to give her too much time to think of new details she could add to make this all more feasible.” Ventriloquist was smart enough to toe that line of accusing Petra of lying without claiming it as much. Careful words let him bite back on his panic all the more as well. 

Soxkt didn’t turn away from his arms outstretched before him. He flexed. As though breathing, the feathers ruffled and their razor edges rose. He made a fist. The knuckled feathers did the same and now he could see the rust red that filled the delicate lines of each plume.

“We know how much Petra grieves Uldren. And the stress of this curse for all these months now, years even…” Ventriloquist left a pregnant pause but Soxkt was silent as he worked to attach the pauldron to his shoulder, pulling the leather under his bicep taunt, adorning the head onto himself. “She feels helpless. Trapped. Mara is gone. Uldren is gone. The curse is unrelenting and the Darkness is on our porch. You heard her just now- it’s wearing on her. I know how strong she is, I can’t ever doubt that, and it’s amazing she’s held on for so long but...isn’t this all a little convenient?”

Soxkt again said nothing. They didn’t need it but he adjusted the buckles of his bootstraps anyways. Neither of them were fooled by the action.

“Soxkt...you shouldn’t be getting her hopes up by doing this.”

The cloak was heavy and lined underneath in a purple so dark, it hardly retained any light, even when Soxkt held it towards the window. It fit well over his shoulders and draped easily around the pauldron. He tried to affix it like the Hunter’s did there's but it hung strange. He frowned.

“Please. Say something to me.”

A chain was within the upper fold of the left side. Soxkt fingered the delicate silver strand in his hand and pulled it across his shoulders. It connected easily to the other side of the cloak, clipping to a waiting ringlet, askewing the cloak just so. With the shift of weight on his shoulders, it all clicked in place like a magazine in a gun. He stood still for a moment, letting the feeling of the uniform pin him to the floor by the balls of his feet. 

“...It fits.”

He turned to his Ghost, arms stretched, as though searching for approval. The iris did not blink.

“...Perfectly. It fits you...perfectly.” Ventriloquist’s tone was exhausted and he brought himself down from where he hovered and rested on the nightstand, still watching, still unblinking, about as floaty as a paperweight.

Of course, Petra wasn’t anywhere to be found when he exited, leaving Soxkt moving through the house like a reaper of his own creation, a black shadow to lose himself in. Everything carried her touch however; papers were littered across every surface, unfolded and peeled apart, chairs pulled out and empty cabinets open wide. He walked carefully, still afraid to disturb her purposeful mess, closing the front door again when he walked by. It was on his third pass through the house that he finally realized there was a letter with an open wax seal left on the squat kitchen table, placed to face him when he left the bedroom. An old shopping list, faded to barely anything, had been scribbled over with a pen that still bled ink onto the wood.

“I have to get back. I know you deserve more. I can’t answer how you died but I hope the letter answers enough of what’s most important. What you do next, I trust you.”

“Let’s go somewhere else if you’re going to read that.” Ventriloquist still spoke wearily and had taken refuge in the dusty feathers of the dead man’s hood. Soxkt squinted harder at the note, ignoring the letter, looking past Petra’s shaky words to the barely visible scrawl underneath.

“Soxkt?”

“...She spoke of him like a myth more than someone. But...a man lived here who made shopping lists of grapes and sparkling wine and who kept an urn of ashes by his bedside. Who received...letters. Lots of letters.” He looked around the room before grabbing both notes, pushing them into his- Petrarch’s cloak pocket. “He lived here...quietly. Like anyone else does.” Soxkt looked to his shoulder to bring himself eye to eye with the Ghost, his breathing shallow and rapid, blistering excitement filling his eyes as a truth sunk in heavier and heavier.

“V...I was real.”


	2. The Letter

My Raven,

I have never been one for objects of sentimentality- you know this. A love like ours is uniquely blessed to not require much of them, if any at all. I am blessed to have you at my side more times than not and the space between us, even when vast, is rapidly closed by our selfish efforts. You reject my attempts at lavish appreciation and I am easily sated by your daily acts of loyalty, no matter the size of them. Yet, I am still fond of you having tokens of my affection, ones you can reflect on when that troubled mind of yours rears its frightening head. I know the face it wears as mine looks the same- it is pale and dark eyed and, most concerningly, alluring. So let this gift serve a purpose simply; a ward to keep away the face of doubt and a focus to keep you awake when the lure to dream of darker things comes.

I will be plain; I have now long admired your smart mouth, your victorious hands, the ridges deep in your skin, the way you hold your drink, the way you smile and the way you kneel. I will be complex; if the loyalty of our people to my sister is an ocean, their loyalty to me is but a cup filled near overflowing- and you somehow manage to be the most sustaining drop on it’s golden rim. I will be cruel; I find myself overwhelmed at times with the desire to see you stripped of the man you so proudly are, to break you down to your barest until you are nothing more than your service and your honor. I will be kind; it is all of you that holds my attention, no matter where it may seem to wander. Whenever you look upon yourself or dare to think too much on what you’ve become, know all of it has crossed my mind before and I have chosen to love it all the same. Even what I do not yet know of you, I dream about. There is no reason to hide. You are safe here in my knowing, my love. It is yours to find home within.

Do not feel the need to approach me about this letter next you see me. I will not mention it myself. I know your secret shyness combats your pride and much as I enjoy the conflict it brings, I am benevolent and will give you the kindness of my silence (that you will no doubt throw back in my face soon as you find a way to). If you wish to thank me, simply continue waking up every morning. It is thanks enough to know you are alive. For as long as you are, I know you are mine.

Always, forever, and eternally,

Master of Crows


	3. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soxkt speaks with a mysterious figure of his present and a familiar presence of his past about the burden of knowledge squarely on his shoulders

The first time he met Jolyon was hardly a memory that managed to stay afloat in Soxkt’s crowded waters. If anything, it only remained because of the tranquility it brought with it, the peace, the gentle nature that came with an undefinable melancholy. Now it breached with full intent through his consciousness and drowned his senses as he sat crossed legged under the cool white sun, staring out at the rings overlaying the ink blotched sky, looking at nothing and simply recalling the last time he was sat in this very spot.

The curse had been burgeoning but not for much longer. The Taken’s rule of the landscape was thinning and every bullet aided the cause. No death was certain in the Dreaming City but in the moment, every clean headshot still surged pride into the Guardian. He took care to reload his magazine, straining to peek out of the corner of his eye. The group of soldiers who had docked nearby for a brief recon, taking trips inside a cave network to rush back out supplies, had not yet left. Some of the corsairs took a moment to stretch their legs and let the light absorb through their suits, briefly lax in their steadfast, useless duty. His fingers fumbled the firing pin and he scrambled to catch it.

That Crow with them is certainly still staring at him.

Soxkt’s been alone on this patch for a while now, unbothered. He can see the ships come and go from here and he is rewarded with a near endless onslaught of Taken to practice on in return. No one questions what he is doing or why- they have no reason to question the gift in the mouth of the god child clearing their path home again. ‘God child’, he heard a corsair mutter once. It’s a funny way to be seen but Soxkt supposes it’s only fair; his need for being here certainly feels childish. The flush under the collar he feels at being stared down so pointedly highlights his immaturity exceptionally.

“Is he going to come over yet?” Soxkt mentally asks his Ghost as he adjusts where he’s been sitting, cracking his back with a wince, still keeping an ear out for any burst of conversation. Sitting slouched for so long with this gun was going to turn him into a vine with all the curves it would give his spine.

“I can’t tell. I don’t think any of the corsairs have noticed him watching you yet though or he would’ve stopped.” Ventriloquist replies softly. “There’s no reason to take it personally, you know. Guardians are still a sport for some people to watch, even out here.”

Soxkt swallows his retort down, laying on his stomach, and brings the scope up to his eye once again. He knows it’s nothing special. Many Awoken Guardians talk of stares in the Dreaming City, whispered voices and gossip they can’t ignore, the tempting fruit of the garden of eden. Petra warned him that the voices would follow him louder with his hand in Uldren and Riven’s death, even if his involvement was only rumor itself. Soxkt worked hard to blend into the pattern of the land he seldom roamed and to make himself just another contracted hero for hire sent in to sweep clean the tormented city. It didn’t always work. He hated watching the wide eyed soldiers get pulled aside and hissed at for coming to him with missions, for breaching his personal space even slightly. The Techeuns were strictest. Sedia herself always spoke with a coldness to him he tried not to take personally.

Surrounded by faces so like his own, it was hard not to take it personally, however.

The gun kicked into his shoulder and tore the midsection of a Taken Minotaur to pieces just under a mile away. Uldren had been dead for months now, maybe even a year. Time was still hard to grasp onto after those months of turmoil he went through. He hated to look back on that time so naturally he lingered on it far too much for his own good, reslashing open the wounds of his mental state again and again when he did. Still, he was stable for now. He worried returning to the Dreaming City would lead him to dream chasing. It almost did. It was so tempting to tear through the city, sneak through the lines drawn for Guardians, and find the places he saw in his dreams. The forest, the gardens, the rivers, pagodas on top of dazzling views, all places so familiar but never actually seen with his own eyes. He wondered what he might find there. And that wondering was what kept him away.

“Oy.”

Soxkt’s shot went wide as his hand flinched. He blinks and moves his head to look up at the Crow, who stared down at him with sharp eyes, suddenly towering over him and casting a long thin shadow. He had moved in absolute, impressive silence and with incredible speed. Soxkt could now more clearly see the emblem on his chest plate and his mouth went dry.

The Crow moved his eyes from the Guardian’s face to the sniper in Soxkt’s hand and jutted his chin at it. Numbly, Soxkt pulled himself up to sitting and held the sniper out to him. He took it gingerly and, much to Soxkt’s shock, swept aside his long cloak to sit beside him on the grass. Nimbly reaching around, he withdrew his own sniper rifle, the exact same make as Soxkt’s. The Crow inspected each gun closely in his lap, side by side while the Warlock watched. 

“You can make your thing pull up the numbers.” The Crow stated bluntly. Soxkt stared before the meaning sunk in and he silently signalled for Ventriloquist to pull up the gun’s display. The Crow grunted as it appeared, not shifting away from where he gazed downwards.

“Your rifle barrel is a touch different from mine. Corkscrew. You have different rounds as well. Ricochet. Not bad.” He rolled his eyes up to stare at its holographic display. “Handy little thing. Guess you never have to learn your gun manually with things like this.” He ran a finger along the gun’s barrel and then handed it back to Soxkt, who took it with an awed look on his face. 

“Had it for a while then.”

Soxkt nodded.

“Decent enough time with it.”

Soxkt made a middling hand gesture. Jolyon glanced at where Ventriloquist once was and then back.

“My name’s Jolyon. You’re Soxkt, the one who doesn’t talk. And you got that gun killing Riven.” Soxkt’s chest cavity fills with ice. It’s not a question, just like everything else the Crow has said so far. It’s a crack shot of honesty with little regard for what gets hit in its wake, as pinpoint perfect as the sniper.

There’s no point in lying. Soxkt sighs long and slow. “Y...yes.” He finally manages to speak, softly. It’s a truth that deserves to be said out loud, even to a stranger. Maybe especially to one.

Jolyon cocks an apathetic brow, nonplused by the theatrics. “Wish for it?” The only question so far.

Soxkt rapidly shakes his head then slows, hesitating. His hands cut in for him as he decides the real answer is too wordy and strange to trust his tongue to articulate. “No wishing. Not consciously at least.”

“Mm. So. It’s either luck or she just knew you’d like it. Funny.”

Soxkt shrugged guiltily. He didn’t let himself dwell on what Riven saw in him. The insight of that beast was too vast. Looking into what she saw might accidentally open his own mind to things he wasn’t ready for. But Jolyon was now scrutinizing him much stronger, so openly too, as though waiting for an answer he knew wasn’t coming. 

“You’re a Crow.” Soxkt blurted out, hoping to change course before Jolyon could put words to the question in his eyes.

Jolyon glanced down at his own chest piece, rubbing a finger over the fraying red emblem as though it would wipe clean off. “I suppose I still am, considering.”

“I worked with Crows. Sort of. I...I worked with the Vestian outpost a lot at least. Before...yeah. I never met a Crow...in person before though.”

“Mm. Probably be the last one you’ll meet too.” 

Soxkt cringed uncomfortably at the reminder. “You...have orders to stay away...like the corsairs then.”

“As you might guess, Guardian, we aren’t exactly on our strongest legs right now, us Crows. Chalk it up to us being too busy to chit-chat more than being about ‘following orders’. We aren’t always the best at that sorta thing, even at the best of times.”

As though remembering very suddenly who he was risking his hide speaking with, Jolyon began to reattach the rifle to its holster, untangling his long legs to stand. “Speaking of, I’ll be in for a world of trouble if they catch me here. Probably already am anyways for slacking. Gotta lessen the brunt if I can.” He brushes the grass from the backs of his thighs and pauses, face souring as he takes in Soxkt’s guilt. “What? What’s that look for?”

“I...I’m just sorry.” 

For a moment, Jolyon’s mouth twitches. Something like amusement briefly flicks across his eyes. “Ha. Wow. I’m not used to hearing that from the likes of you.” 

Soxkt smiles weakly. He would laugh if the truth wasn’t sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe. “Guardians...are not typically apologetic. But...there is so much...to be sorry for, I think.”

Jolyon winces and his numb bravery shatters right then, his face cracking with emotion barely repressed, breaking eye contact and turning to stare out at the misty waters around them. Soxkt is fine with that; he can’t stand those eyes and how piercing they are looking through him like they do. He turns to look out with him instead, breathing in deep, strangely calmed. The wind whistles in their ears. 

“Are you going to say...I shouldn’t be sorry?” He gains the courage to ask.

Jolyon’s answer is almost lost in the waves. “...Nope. I’ll be frank. Kinda happy to hear it.” He shoulders his gun sling, flipping up the black feather lined hood. “What’s that thing they say? Misery loves company? Yeah, guess so.”

...

Soxkt, still regaled in the armor of the Raven, doesn’t move from where he sits, the same overlook he sat on when he met a Crow what felt like a lifetime ago. Every memory he had was already being painted with the brush of grey time- even defeating Eramis and rescuing Draknus seemed to be barely a flicker in his synapses. He sits like a gargoyle, unmoving, the letter carefully tucked into his hand. He doesn’t startle when he hears footsteps behind him. Even when they approach and stop inches beside him. Even when Jolyon makes himself comfortable with a grunt, long legs stretched in front of him, staring out at the horizon with the same intelligent, heavy lidded eyes as before.

The silence doesn’t find it’s end. It seems ready to stretch into infinite aside from the waters lapping at the shore. Soxkt’s cheeks puff with questions, basic ones to try and give him an inch of ground to stand on. His mind is sixteen paces ahead though, far past the safest grounds to start, and so instead he merely blurts out “How different am I now?”

Jolyon breathes in slowly, unflinching. It is not hard for him to find the trail that walked Soxkt to ask that of him. “Don’t worry. I like you a lot more now.”

“Really?”

Jolyon has to think about it and when he finishes, he shrugs. “No. But...good on you for learning to shut up in this life. I’ll tell you this; not a lesson you would’ve learned in the last one. Maybe that’s how you’ve still got your floating gnat by your side. Don’t think you would still if you were the same as back then.”

It’s a lot of information in such tightly compact words, each one a gift like a bullet to the roof of his mouth. Soxkt pulls a feather from his hood and flicks it between his fingers. He looks at Jolyon’s hood. His feather dulls in comparison but they stand tall the same.

“Did you teach me...how to shoot?” 

“You practiced with my rifle when they barred you from the other guns at the range. And I was there when you did so...sure. A little. Never liked it though- the shooting that is. Or being trained by me.” 

“Were we...friends?” 

“I certainly tolerated you the most.” 

“....More than Uldren?” 

Jolyon takes the question in stride, pace never breaking. “No one tolerated you less than him. Kept him on his toes, I think, to have such a low tolerance for your...everything. But he put up with all of it. Gladly too.”

Jolyon flops straight onto his back, pale hair spilling under his head and across the grass. His eyes reflect the cloudy cosmos and nothing else. “Nothing he loved more than being wrong...and winning anyways.”

Soxkt breathes in and wishes for a breeze to cool the heat radiating off his face, stifling him in all this black. It’s blood igniting shame for things he can’t even fathom, a shame that doesn’t even belong to him but to his scars, to this uniform. He doesn’t want to give himself time to let all the words sink in just yet. He doesn’t want to have to relive these blows one at a time. 

There’s more miserable, comfortable silence for a while. Soxkt pulls the cloak tighter around him.

“I...Petra gave me a letter. It...it’s supposed to be from him to...to Petrarch. I don’t know if you would know anything b-but...” 

Jolyon rolls his head to the side, looking up at Soxkt. “Are you asking me if she forged it?” 

Soxkt’s mouth tightened. His words burn like poison in his mouth. “It is just remarkably convincing in...getting me to feel...what she wants me to feel.”

Jolyon puffs a breath out, nodding reluctantly. “Still got an eye for that kind of thing, huh?” He pulls himself back up to sitting. “Alright, give ‘er here.” 

Soxkt pulls the folded letter from his cloak without thinking but hesitates as he hovers the parchment over the outstretched palm. “You’re...taking this all well.” 

“I’ve had time.” 

Jolyon firmly pulls the letter from Soxkt’s tight fingers. He holds it close to his face, not reading at first, examining the hand writing and parchment inches from his nose. Soxkt again feels like a child, his short years finally seeming short to him as though he was begging a good natured adult to play pretend on his delusions. But soon Jolyon pulls back enough to sincerely drink the curved words in and when he does, his face softens until his mouth is gently parted and his gaze is near affectionate. He reads it at least twice, slower on the second pass. Soxkt thinks he might throw up from nerves. He snaps the rachis of the feather under his thumb.

He wonders if Jolyon will ever break the spell he’s put himself under but with a definitive lock of his jaw, he presses the letter back into Soxkt’s chest. “It’s real.”

“Are...are you certain?”

“You saw him, at the end. I know you did. Did he seem like a man who would have written this?” He gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes when Soxkt curls possessively over the letter, gripping it over his heart. “I could tell you some tales to back me up- I’m sure that’s what some part of you wants. But they don’t matter now. Because every Uldren we know is dead. Especially the one who wrote that letter. That version of him died the moment you left the Reef. Guess you can’t help yourself from killing the man, can you?” 

The Crow relishes openly in the distraught look that comes over Soxkt’s face and for the first time, his smile is in full bloom. “This...oh, this has been a long time coming. Hell, it’s the best I’ve felt in a long time now. I thought a lot about how lucky you were to not have to feel all this but now you do. You do. You get to feel all of it. All of the deaths of my brother, my best friend, our prince. Maybe even now, you’ll feel a stitch of regret for what you put our people through.” Jolyon sighs with selfish, ugly relief. 

“It’s about time, Petrarch, that all your luck ran out. If not in that lifetime but in this one. It will do.”

They sit and absorb the light into their swirling blue skin, both sets of eyes briefly shut together, draping themselves in the place that used to be their home.

“You hate me.” Soxkt whispers.

“Kind of. I thought I knew what hating you felt like before. I got it all wrong back then.”

Soxkt opens his eyes first and inhales hard. “I...I want answers. You and Petra can’t just leave me with half of the story-”

“I figure I can do whatever the hell I want.” Jolyon counters sharply, only lifting a single lid to stare back. Soxkt bites his tongue. He is more scared of the idea of Jolyon leaving than he is angry but that can rapidly change hands. He tries to speak calmly.

“You know... it isn’t right. You know... I’m not him. If you’re all going to treat me like him, I should at least know... why.”

Jolyon drums his fingers on his kneecap, eye shutting again as his brow tensed. “...Well? What do you want then? What is any of this going to do for you in the first place?”

“I...I don’t even know who I was, as a person, when I was Pe-”

“Loud mouth, arrogant, wouldn’t shut up to save your skin, a piss poor loser, hiding behind what you called charm and what we called snakeskin, just a violent brute pretending you could make up for that by talking fancy. How’s that? That scratch your itch enough?”

Soxkt burst to his feet like a sparrow’s engine kicked to life, bursting with vitriol and frustration, voice losing itself in the wide beautiful expanse around them. “No one’s even told me how I died! Or a story about my scars or, or why Uldren let me in the Reef if he was...if we were…Damn it, if you were all going to be cowards about telling me, then why tell me at all?! You have your catharsis but leave me with nothing! I am not a man satisfied with half truths and prophetic dreams anymore- I want to carve my own path and unless you want me to drag us all into hell through my recklessness, you’ll help me!” 

Jolyon stared and finally, finally his apathetic stare was wide eyed, nearly frightened, as though he had glimpsed a specter. “...So. You can talk. Really talk. You just... don’t.”

“...It never felt safe to.” Soxkt shuffled his feet, briefly ashamed of his outburst, before shaking his head clear. “...How did I die, Jolyon? Why won’t Petra tell me?”

“Easy. No one knows. No one. Not me, not Petra, and not Uldren. Don’t even know if the Queen herself knew...or knows. You were just there one day and you were gone the next on the dawn of a war that ran its course for years and years. Imagine the theories we made and how easy they were to believe. And those scars you got? I don’t know either and neither does anyone else around now. I’m sure you got a lot of them working as one of us but you didn’t like to talk about them, old or new. None of the pride we had in ours...got the feeling they made you feel weak or something equally ridiculous.”

Jolyon snorts, resting his chin in his palm. “And come on. You have that blasted letter. Even I know that in the shell of whatever the Black Garden left Uldren to be, he probably just wanted to make sure you were taken care of and safe. I...I think there are some things life can’t take from us. No matter how hard it tries. He didn’t recognize anyone at the end but before that...maybe he did enough to want to keep you at his side, even a little. Like always. Even if he forgot you and gods, I hope he did.”

Jolyon’s glare could seer the armor right off Soxkt. “You get one more question.”

“Fine. You said all those things about Petrarch but...you liked him anyway. Why?”

This time, when Jolyon fell quiet, Soxkt was sure he had ruined his chances. Jolyon brought his forehead down to rest on his arms and Soxkt was already turned to make his way back down the shore when Jolyon spoke up, muffled slightly but clear enough.

“...You sang once. At a bar. Uldren had me take you to drink with the Crows so we could hear if you...if Petrarch was planning to cause unrest in the Reef. Didn’t work in the first place because you could hold your drink abysmally well. But once you had some in you, you told us you learned songs from your time on Earth. The songs sung by those poor wretches scrambling in the blood and dirt under your great Traveler’s shadow. You sang for us and...shut the whole bar up. Not a surprise you could sing as well as you spoke but...damnit, you sounded so sad. Realized then you were just begging someone to see you as a man, a man who’s friends all died and who was hated by everyone around him and who was stuck playing soldier to a man who was looking for any chance to kill you.”

“Even realizing that...I think it still took me longer than Uldren to be willing to see it. But...I couldn’t really hate you then. Too pathetic.” Jolyon groans, rolling his eyes at the sadness Soxkt lets brush his face. “...Alright, fine. And you...you had your moments. Your good bits. Doesn’t matter now. Last thing I need is to puff up whatever ego of his you still carry.”

Jolyon grips Soxkt’s- Petrarch’s cloak in his fist and pulls, almost yanking the Guardian back down to the ground as he uses the leverage to pull himself up, standing close and towering over the Guardian, a harsh shadow bisecting his face unable to keep those eyes from glowing like a predator’s right down into his. As young and handsome as he looks, there is ancient grief in his throat that rumbles like a storm that never passed.

“Listen to me. You don’t owe us anything. Not me, not her, not him. Maybe if we grieved for you. Maybe if we looked for you or hunted you down. Maybe if we did any damn thing. But we didn’t. Because it was easier not to and we had a war to fight and at the end of it...it was easiest to forget you. So I don’t know what Petra said but you already left us. And we already decided we were better off that way, better or worse. I don’t want your heroism ruining the one last modicum of peace we’ve secured. And if you could have fixed him...if you could have stopped him...it was long before your Traveler picked you back up again.”

He searches for an ounce of fight in Soxkt’s eyes, resistance, anything to justify his anger but there’s nothing for him to place his anger in. He nods once, seemingly satisfied, and hurries to make the first departure.

Jolyon glances over his shoulder, nonchalant. “Oh and if you see him out there- much as Petra pretends, rumors do not only reach her ears- do us all a big favor...and put him down one more time.”


	4. Vanguard Report: S-56746-VTX

ACCESS: RESTRICTED  
DECRYPTION KEY: 986HDFV-84F#8-POL  
REP #: 053-VIP-1315  
AGENT(S): AUN-326  
SUBJ: Pre-Guardian information for subj. VIP #7375

1a. Pre-Distributary and Pre-Reef

Note: Texts and records of this time are limited. Much information is cobbled together from narrative and witness. All information may be subject to change.

None known of the subject’s life prior to his records recovered regarding his time on Yang Liwei. When PETRARCH X (last name unknown and forged on all documents) was aboard Yang Liwei, he was assigned a low-tier position working among the mainline technical support for the daily technology used to assist custodial classes. All documents of his were eventually discovered to have been forged and he was deemed highly unqualified for his work though little was able to be done at the point this was discovered. 

Psychoanalysis reports and evaluations list Petrarch X as quiet, humble, shy, polite, but also quickly provoked to violence as means of self defense with an inability to connect with others. He was moved from his position into the food and stocking position amongst the service workers on the ship after a transfer request when he befriended some of the workers. Petrarch’s record was clean but he had a few noted marks on his file for sneaking out during curfew to participate in pit fighting after allowed hours. However, he did not seem to cause a disturbance or even wager in the betting pools so he was not reprimanded for these actions. He seemed to only want to fight.

Petrarch and his friends were reborn along with the other Awoken during this time. The group of five took the early years of the pocket dimension to the sea and were unheard of for some time. Word of mouth and old records gifted us from the royal archives say Petrarch began to go by Petrarch Wyn at this time, adopting the last name of his close confidant Tye Wyn. Petrarch would go on to have Tye Wyn under his agency during the Theocratic Wars along with allies Jaris Than, Margreve and Fio’ra Adums. 

1b. Theodicy War

According to narrative, Petrarch Wyn and his companions returned during the onset of the Theodicy War, shortly after the declaration of the Diasyrm. Petrarch took interest in the war and began to insert himself into it though not through military prowess. Though the civil war between the Awoken never reached the lengths most human war has gone to, records still indicate a significant schism in the people during this time and casualties of it. Petrarch is believed to have stoked the fires of this war to a significant degree, though it is unclear what side he fell upon. He seemed to work as an agent of chaos with his allies, sowing discord on both sides of the war. Despite previous reports stating the opposite, Petrarch was a deeply charismatic person according to what information has been gathered. He was an accomplished speaker who grew only more as the war went on.

When the war came to an end in majority from the efforts of Queen Mara Sov, Osana Sov, and Prince Uldren Sov, Petrarch and his companions were left without a side to fall to. Much of the war’s grief and needless death was placed onto their collective shoulders and they were ousted from society. This emboldened the group rather than fracture it and they became a fringe outlier amongst the unified people, continuing to plant seeds of rebellion against the established monarchy. 

Over the years, this group was unable to gain any significant foothold but much has been attributed to them both in documented instances of insolence and in rumors as far reaching as working with the Diasyrm. Much of the group’s actions and direct motives were hidden/not investigated however and little else is known of this time. The last action to note was that Petrarch and the fellowship stole a ship and rode the engine tails of the Awoken who followed Mara from their home in the Distributary to the Reef.

2\. Time on Earth (Dark Age)

Note: Texts and records of this time are limited. Much information is cobbled together from narrative and witness. All information may be subject to change.

Petrarch Wyn and his companions were ousted from the Reef, shortly caught and criminally tried for their actions after their escape. It is unknown what became of the companions during this time but Petrarch would go on to say they perished on Earth in later conversation. It is known that Petrarch safely landed on Earth, the first Awoken to do such, and it is expected he spent the next 20 odds years minimum on Earth.

As is frequent during this time, record keeping is shoddy and unable to properly track the movements or actions of Petrarch Wyn. Our most reliable source is the stories of War Lords documented and gifted for research by the Iron Lords. There in a few stories appears the tale of a man who bartered and brokered deals for settlements, a liaison between the Lightless and the War Lords. However, the man consistently proposed two faced deals and was typically forced to flee the settlements he hid in once his reputation with the citizens plummeted and the War Lords ire turned towards him. Eventually, his reputation must have preceded him as there are documents indicating bounties placed on him and then his place within the Dark Age narrative vanishes completely during the rise of the Iron Lords. This aligns with the later allegations that Petrarch Wyn was the sole benefactor of the Queen’s call and he returned home to the Reef.

3\. The Reef

Petrarch Wyn returned to the Reef, claiming he had heard a call the Queen had put out towards their people and a ‘single thread’ guided him home. The circumstances that would allow such a thing granted him the ability to remain upon the Reef under investigation (Note: No information could be acquired about the results of this investigation at this time. Subject may have had contact with paracausal entities prior to his becoming a Guardian). During this time, the royal court decided on giving him a place within their people so he may work off his debt to society. The prince Uldren Sov suggested at this time that if Petrarch were to survive the harsh reality of the Dark Age, he would need to be a skilled fighter and thus would be a military asset. So as to keep an eye on him during this time, Uldren Sov assigned Petrarch to the Crow military task force.

Petrarch worked to maintain his spot within the Crows through incredible hard work and sheer will, running on a rapidly small amount of time most Crows had the luxury of moving slowly through. The skill deemed to exist latent in him by the prince appeared to be true- later documents went into more detail on Petrarch’s skill in hand to hand combat which rivaled even Sjur Edo herself. He seemed to continue to be at odds with the royal company and his colleagues during this time until the Crow’s first encounter with the Vex on Mars during a scouting expedition. Petrarch suffered multiple injuries in his defense of the prince’s life. Reports claim Petrarch used only his hands to defeat a Minotaur after the prince’s gun malfunctioned but it is believed to be greatly exaggerated. 

Afterwards, Petrarch’s accomplishments and achievements are noted more consistently in line with those of his fellow Crows. Most notably, Petrarch was said to have found a missing artifact among the Reef and returned it to The Queen for her archives. This seems to be the milestone in which Petrarch began to rise above his fellow Crows and work began with the efforts of Uldren Sov to establish him as The Raven. 

The Raven- An attempt made by the Prince Uldren Sov to assign a right hand to himself, mirroring a familiar position to the Queen’s Wrath. Reports confirm the prince did not get a chance to formally establish such a position nor was it sanctioned by those in the upper echelons of the Queen’s court or military. However, at this time Petrarch was almost solely assigned to high priority detailing and guard work for His Highness. As time went on, this adjusted to also being a guard of the Queen Mara Sov while His Highness went on more dangerous expeditions outside typical system parameters.

It is to be noted that there is speculation Petrarch’s placement at the prince’s side was done in part thanks to an illicit affair the two held in secret. No evidence beyond rumor exists of this relationship and is not vital to the report.

The story cuts off abruptly, as most do for soldiers. For reasons unknown, Petrarch left the Reef one evening in a cruiser to not return home and never be seen again. A day later, the Fallen fleet that would signal the start of the long fought Reef wars would be spotted on the edges of the Awoken’s territory. Consensus seems to fall into one of three categories regarding his death: Petrarch knew of the war’s start and fled in cowardice, Petrarch ended his long con to destroy the Awoken people by signaling the Fallen fleet, or Petrarch was captured and killed making his attempted escape from the Reef that night. His death was not investigated despite his high position at the time due to the still majority prevalence of his prior reputation and the ongoing war effort. As time went on, it seems he was simply deemed better forgotten by his people and he faded into a shameful secret. 

4\. Final consensus

Though there is suspicion the Vestian Dynasty are likely to try and demand favors from Guardians who were once high ranking within their society, it is my belief this fear should not exist for VIP #7375. Petrarch Wyn was a pariah of his people and has continued to be as such in death. The Vanguard should cease further investigation into this case and redirect their attention from this menial issue. VIP #7375 is a host of other concerns for the safety of the Last City but this should not be one of them.


	5. The Pack Hunts Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long after the reveal of his past life, Soxkt is called upon by Osiris to help him hunt the Hive who ended Sagira's life. Soxkt calls on the same fireteam he had when he put down Uldren Sov years ago to assist him, both in the hunt and to keep him emotionally grounded.

“Zavala’s office. Immediately.”

Soxkt let his arms limply drop to his sides, as though even the act of reaching up to turn on his comm was strenuous. He hoped the curtness of his message inspired the right amount of stress to get both Hunters back in the Tower as fast as possible. Trying to find them together at the same time had a sum zero chance of happening and he wasn’t sure he could move to track them down now anyways. He definitely couldn't without garnering at least some attention. They were, after all, the only two people maybe in this whole system he would let near him right now. 

Soxkt pressed both his palms flat against the transmission deck, head low. His brain was numb and it was beginning to spread through his limbs. He suddenly got why Zavala was known for standing in such a way typically- the weight on the Warlock’s shoulders was stifling and drove a spike through the bottoms of his feet, leveraging him to the floor. And it was only a single piece of news that put him in such a state. The Commander had to carry this weight every day.

“Sagira.... by the Traveler, I can’t believe…” Ventriloquist could hardly put words to his shock, so he quickly shifted his line of thinking, babbling to sweep away his grief. “You aren’t going to make the same mistake as him, Soxkt. You’re not going in alone, for one. We’ll be okay, no matter what’s in there now or what you need to do. We can save him, we can finish the job. We can put this whole thing to rest all at once.”

Soxkt grimaced, only half listening, wound tight like a stripped screw. Osiris’s final transmission was playing on a mental loop. The Young Wolf. He wondered how purposeful it was that Osiris spoke for him with that title. The Vanguard didn’t use it. He didn’t use it. He forbade anyone who found out about it from using it with two rare exceptions. And now Osiris wasn’t asking for the hero of the red war, the one who freed the Traveler, or the savior of Saint-14. He called on the Young Wolf, a relic of only a few short years past now.

The Warlock’s mind began to work itself into a tight circle. The Young Wolf was a grief-stricken, lonely Warlock who was finely tuned by an Iron Lord to point his fury at the Fallen, a cathartic use for revenge for himself and others, hoping desperately for comfort in ripping the life of everyone who stood in his way…

Draknus transmatted directly into the office. The haphazard landing caused him to almost walk right one of Zavala's combat frames and the commotion ceased Soxkt’s whirlwind for a brief moment. 

"Hey! Soxkt! I was in orbit when I got your message. What's wrong?" The worry in the Hunter's voice was clear, even when he awkwardly patted a frame’s shoulder and chirped an apology for the near collision.

Before he could start working on an answer, the comms in Soxkt's ear cracked, another familiar voice and gunfire ripping through. "Socks, I'm on my way, just- FUCK, hang on a second!" The line became staticky for a moment as a garbled roar was clearly audible in the distance. The sound of Golden Gunshots were heard, though it was impossible to tell anything else over the din on the other side. After a moment of strained quiet, Sigurd came back on, sounding clear. 

"I'm at the Reef. Be there soon. I know that tone of voice, don't do anything stupid until I get there, at least. Give me 5." The comms crackled and shut off.

Soxkt's shoulders noticeably slumped lower and lower still, lavishing in the greedy relief friendship gave him in his darkest times. He kept his back to Draknus as his hands unlatched and he began to copy the transmissions from Zavala's transmit receiver, letting Ventriloquist talk in place for his locked jaw. 

"Draknus, it’s- I’m not even sure how to begin." The Ghost shook his shell back and forth, a habit from his charge as though trying to clear his head. "We can get into it more once Sigurd arrives but....Osiris is- he's been trying to uncover something. Something powerful and it led him to the moon and now...Sagira. She's..." There was a profound misery in Ventriloquist's voice, the grave reality too close to a reality that could be its own. Many a time the small Ghost looked at the self imposed isolation of Osiris and what it wrought and found himself staring at a path far too familiar to him.

Soxkt clicked his tongue sharply, banging the console as a transmission stalled. "She died saving him from something.” He said bluntly, voice a low thunder in his throat, “And now the Young Wolf has been called to hunt." His eyes were hard as glass as the blues of the screen overshadowed his face, the transmission ticking by.

Draknus stood in shock for a moment. His Ghost materialized in front of him. "Sagira? Wha- how?! What could have possibly gotten Osiris into a position that would require her to sacrifice herself?"

"You can piece it together as best we could." Ventriloquist beeped as the final transmission came in and he immediately forwarded the audio logs to Draknus's Ghost, following with a moment of hesitation before doing the same to Sigurd's Ghost across the system. 

"Its... Hive. It's not just Hive though, its something...new. Breeching through the system. Osiris has been chasing it for days through the Reef and the Dreaming City. Its something disrupting the Cabal and Eliksni and this corruption seems to be led by-" Soxkt cleared his throat. A brief mental conversation occurred. Even in this state, he was still wary of what such a sudden dump of information could do to his friends. "You...you can hear the rest for yourself." Ventriloquist stumbled in conclusion.

Soxkt couldn’t bear to watch the facial expressions ripple across Draknus’s face and so he kept his back to him until his comms crackled open once again. 

"I'll meet you on the moon. We are going to avenge Sagira with Xivu Arath's clan." Sigurd spoke with startling firmness, a stark contrast to Sigurd's normal, generally carefree or "unhinged" attitude. "Soxkt, I'm counting on you to be there quick. I'm going in as soon as I arrive. We're not letting them get away. And keep Ventriloquist close to you, huh?" The line shut off again and rang dead.

"I warned you." Ventriloquist said softly as Soxkt startled, hand jumping to his ear. Soxkt finally spun around to pace across the room, panicked frustration filling his tone. 

"Sigurd, I called you and Drak so I wouldn't be going into this alone, don't you DARE jump into hell without us there! Just...w-wait for us, damn it, please." Soxkt clicked the comm off and groaned heavily, wiping his brow, glancing at the shell shocked Hunter still in the center of the room. His hand dropped from his ear.

“Did...did you-?”

“Yeah.” Draknus’s voice was small and he kept his Ghost cupped in between his hands, thumbs gentle on the edges of its shell, thousands of lightyears away.

Doubt chewed on Soxkt’s brain and he tried to drag his shaky voice back to something firm and non negotiable. "Sigurd is already....I....look, you don't have to do this with me. With us. It’s going to... I mean....i-if you..."

Draknus shook his head, doubt changing to anger on his face. "Stop. I'm in a mood for revenge too.” His Ghost floated up from his hands and he rounded his shoulders, snapping his grief into shape and bridging the small gap between him and the Warlock. “Sagira and Osiris mean a lot to me...just as much as you do. If I can take revenge for Sagira, then I will, and the last thing I want is for Osiris to die as well."

He grabbed his Ghost from midair, fiddling with his rectangular shell and sliding his fingers across the metal grooves between the ceramic plates." I'm heading up. I'll meet you at the entrance to Hellmouth in the Anchor of Light. It's the closest entrance to the Shrine of Oryx, and I think there is a good chance that's where we will find our enemy."

Soxkt steadied his breathing, already lulled by the reassurance of his fireteam despite his doubts. This was all pulling some anxiety inducing deja vu in him but...wasn't that why he called them? To justify the rage thrumming between his temples, begging for an outlet? The ones who bore his biggest regret would be there in case he was made to relive another.

"...Alright." Soxkt nodded and then smiled, tight, joyless- it was cathartic to see the anger Draknus wore on his face and know it matched his own. "Then hunt with me." He one handed grabbed the shotgun that seemed to manifest from thin air, holstering it, and with a flick of his wrist, transmatted away, immediately beginning to compile the signal sent from Osiris and now comparing it to the signal he could still capture of where Sigurd was beginning to descend.

Sigurd found himself deep in a tunnel on the moon, crouching behind a rock as an ogre poured relentless void energy onto the other side. He had, of course, not waited as advised, but he wasn't stupid enough to try to take down a... he peeked over the rock before snapping it back down to avoid redirected beams... take down a very large and angry ogre where his Light was weak. His Ghost popped out, looking at him accusingly. 

"You know you could have waited. He even said please."

"Yes, yes, I know. You don't have to 'I told you so' me." Sigurd grabbed an acolyte that rounded the corner of the rock, stabbing it 3 times in the chest before letting it fall beside him, sighing. "You're very insufferable sometimes," he said nonchalantly. 

"Are you going to call them?"

"Well, they're already on their way, and if they can’t find me on their own they’re a sorry excuse for a fireteam, so-"

"Sigurd."

"Fine." He toggled his comms on. "Hey Socks and D-bag, how far out are you? An ogre is stopping me from carrying out my bloody vengeance for Sagira. Hurry up."

Ventriloquist responded quickly, hushed and slightly muffled but clear enough. "We aren't far from your mark, Sigurd! We should be rounding on you soon. But Soxkt says-" 

"You missed a few." The rasp cut through Ventriloquist's comms and shortly followed behind the sound of pellets on chitin and the clack of a shotguns reload. 

Soxkt didn't pause in his heavy footed pace down the moon's tunnels, freshly dead thrall crunching under his boots as he diligently reloaded his gun, eyes barely visible in the dark depths of the stag skull front that adorned his helmet. His hands were already slick with Hive gore but moved steady all the same. Ventriloquist was hidden within his backpack and spoke up softer still. "We are en route. Both of us. Hang tight."

Draknus slammed down next to Soxkt, his ice kama producing a pulse of energy that shattered the frozen knights nearby, causing chunks of ice to rain down around them. Standing up, he looked over at Soxkt, muttering over the live comms, "Can't even deal with an ogre on your own, eh Sigurd? That's fine. I want more fodder anyway." Soxkt dimly wondered if he was smiling under that and what it must look like if he was.

Sigurd looked at Floki, floating next to him, in response to that message. He mimed shooting himself in the head, and his Ghost bobbed up and down in a silent laugh. "Glad to hear you're on the way. Better hurry up though." 

Cutting off his line, Sigurd said, annoyed, "Well I guess we have to kill this ogre now. Let me just-" A different helmet appeared on his head, pointed beak reminiscent of a bird of prey. "Alright. That's better." He dove out from behind the rock, snapping off a shot from his Golden Gun at the ogre before it could turn to meet him. The shot carried the heat of a star in it, and the ogre immediately disintegrated into a cloud of ash, slowly blowing down the tunnel.

Sigurd bent over, putting his hands on his knees. "Oh fuck, I fucking hate those things. Starting to see the appeal in the Hunter Vanguard position." His Ghost puttered over to him, turning to look at where the ogre had been a moment ago. 

"I recorded that for you." 

"You know, you really are the best Ghost."

The echo of the Golden Gun whipped down the tunnel's expanse from deep within, drawing the duo's eyes. An acolyte was drawn forth by the sound but not for long as a fistful of black hole seized its chest cavity. Soxkt pulled his hand away from the disintegrating slurry of dead flesh. 

"Do you have to goad Sigurd like that? Soxkt says to hurry now before he tries to take on the celebrant himself-" Ventriloquist's comment referencing Osiris was impeccably timed as the voice of the exile cut through the comms, breathless. 

"You three! I've withdrawn deeper into the shrine. I....I think this might've been a trap. You must hurry." Soxkt swore softly and his even pace broke into a run, jettisoning himself down the bone riddled terrain in front of him, turning to see the faint visage of Sigurd in a cleaned out expanse in front of them. He could hear Osiris talking more but blood rushed in his ears, dulling the voice behind the low roar of anger.

Draknus followed close behind, listening carefully. He smiled softly to himself when he saw the area Sigurd was in already cleared out. 

"Ha! I knew you had it. Always playing the victim aren't you?" He reached over to pat Sigurd on the back.

Sigurd, still bent over, whipped around and head-butted Draknus in the stomach with his helmet. "Don't fucking condescend to me, New Light." 

Draknus groaned, clutching his stomach. "Whhhhy would you do that…?" He wheezed as much as he could with all the air knocked out of him.

Sigurd ignored his whine and straightened himself, brushing off some moon dust from his armor. "You know damn well. Well, we're not done yet. Let's go." He didn't wait for either of the others to respond, as he just jogged ahead on his own. With the obstacles they'd run into, they didn't have time to wait any longer.

Draknus palmed Soxkt away as the Warlock briefly let go of his rage to fret over him. Stretching back to standing, the two began their sprint, Draknus bitterly mumbling under his breath “I've been around long enough- I don't think I can be called New Light anymore," as they followed the ex-Warlord’s pace. The two almost ran into his back as they froze in the doorway to a room, the towering Hive Celebrant poised in front of them before vanishing and a wave of acolytes spilled from where he left a scorch, the first wave of many meant to slow their step. 

The three Guardians moved, a well oiled machine of death from varying years of practice, cutting through room after room of Hive in an impressively well organized chase, taken nearly entirely in silence. Rage gave them focus and revenge gave them vigor, turning them into personal instruments of the Hive's destruction. Black ice, radiant flames, and licking void singe followed in their wake from the moon's vast tunnels, cutting through the bleak Ascendant realm and out once more, until…

Soxkt's feet hit the ground hard and he breathed in heavy. The shock of the Ascendant realm always left him a little out of breath, though it was becoming easier as of late, the smell of ozone no longer a burn to his sinuses thanks to the Stasis pulsing under his veins. That ambush didn't exactly help however. 

"You're here! Finally!" Osiris's voice was a blessing when it cut through the room and Soxkt turned his head up in relief to see the old Warlock, armed and waiting for them, unharmed. A burst of grief threatened to douse the fire pooling in his gut upon letting his gaze rest where Sagira would once be but before it could- moments clicked by, a blur, faster than Soxkt could process beyond flickering image. 

A stray knight appearing with a roar of victory. 

Osiris falling to the floor, suddenly as old as time had left him and just as weak.

The near desperate sound of weapons being drawn and raised on either side of him, the stench of guilt at allowing a moment’s respite. 

The knight...dead before a single shot could go off. 

A figure- a Guardian? -emerging from the shadow, hooded, sword in their grasp, the light of the Hive falling soft around them as they moved. They walked slow, gracefully, as though the weight of the gazes on him were forcing him to walk on water.

And…

"We warned you it was going to be dangerous down here!" A Ghost materialized above their shoulder and in the glint of it’s light, the face illuminated clear. 

And Soxkt was falling.

Sigurd winced in his helmet. "Oh fuck," he said quietly. He holstered his hand cannon quickly and scrambled up the platform with the prone Osiris and the Lightbearer known as Crow, known to him formerly as Prince Uldren Sov of the Vestian Dynasty, and the man he ... turned into this. 

He sidled himself in front of Crow to attempt to block him from view somewhat as he grabbed Osiris's hand, helping him to his feet. "THANK YOU, FELLOW UNKNOWN GUARDIAN," he said to everyone in the room, loud voice echoing in the cavernous space "WE APPRECIATE YOUR HELP IN SAVING OUR FRIEND OSI- oh what's the fucking point.” 

“You two," he said to his fireteam below, "this... is Crow. And Glint." An awkward pause filled the air.

Draknus shook his head after watching Sigurd attempt this excuse of a performance and placed his hand on his helmet as if to cover up his embarrassment, trying to speak around the strain in his voice. 

"So... you found him first, huh? Here I was chasing down reports of someone in the Cosmodrome and this whole time I could have just asked this clown." He glanced at Soxkt and Ventriloquist through his splayed fingers. The realization hit him a moment too late and his voice pitched uncomfortably. "Well... this is- I mean, you know, it’s sort of- all four of us in the same room, huh? Who’d have thunk?” He moved as though to pat Soxkt’s shoulder and stopped short as though the sheer surface tension surrounding the Warlock knocked his hand aside, leaving him half flailing in the air.

"Whore." Sigurd’s insulted flatly, gladly taking the ire of Crota’s End.

The young Awoken Guardian blinked, eyes flickering about the room rapidly, confusion drawn on his face and increasing every word that was said, looking from the exile, to the Hunter, to the two below again and again. 

"Sigurd, you're- I- I'm sorry, am I supposed to know your cohorts?" Crow asked, his sturdy demeanor waning just a bit. Glint gave a series of beeps that could only be discerned as furious panic. Osiris couldn't peel his eyes away from Sigurd, cold and hard, and he easily swayed the conversation with his commanding tone. 

"You and this young Lightbearer are acquainted already then." He stated bluntly, arms crossing. "I also recall only requesting a single wolf to come aid me, not a pack." 

"We don't make dumb mistakes like responding to an SOS by ourselves, Osiris," Draknus called up. "You said Sagira was destroyed, that’s credence enough to warrant a full fireteam."

"Save your lectures. You are here now and I will return to the Tower to...reconcile with the day's events." For a moment, weariness befitting a man of his age came across his steely glare and his posture curled inward just slightly. He hardly cast a look at the Crow who still seemed beside himself with misunderstanding. "Tell Spider we'll be in touch. I imagine he'll hear from me soon enough." Definitively having the last word and having saved the treacherous conversation, Osiris made his way down the Hive communication structure carefully.

Crow's nod was slow and he stowed his sword, wiping his palms on the front of his armor. "You should come with me, Sigurd. You and...your...fireteam?" The word clunked in his mouth and he looked uneasily at Soxkt and Draknus.

Sigurd glanced at his own fireteam as well, eyes uncomfortably drawn to the almost statue-like quality his Warlock was taking. "Yeah kid, that's the right word for it. Well gang, let's see our good friend Spider. Hoooooray..." He made a half hearted fist-pumping gesture. 

Soxkt had yet to move, despite the fact he was distinctly aware of the fact he was definitely falling with no signs of stopping, wind rushing, stomach in his rib cage and heart in his throat. His arms hung loose at his side, shotgun hanging from his grasp. He didn't look away from where his helmet turned up. He was still enough to be most likely not breathing. There was no word from Ventriloquist in his mind either and, for a moment, no words around him. In the sudden flurry that had kicked up, he was a single still, silent point, waiting for the ground to catch up with him and crush him to nothing.

Did Uldren feel this way, years ago? Years of unfettered feeling suddenly on the surface, breaching through months of careful control and restraint when Soxkt unknowingly walked into an audience with the Queen and unknowingly dragged before the prince a corpse? Was the look behind the skull front the look Uldren wore, trying as they both might to hide it- that glimmer of recognition that carried a weight no gentle, flickering Light should bear? Was this karma, a challenge, a blessing, a new regret to bear forever onward? Was he meant to know?

And, like Soxkt did now, did Uldren all those years ago, deep beneath the waves of a chaos too grand for a heart contain…

...feel warmth, despite it all?

Sigurd turned to Crow and put his hand on his shoulder, leaning to look at the sword, easily breaking the silence before it could build. "You know, you're into smithing. You oughta make me one of those. Looks fancy." 

He directed the living corpse of the Prince of the Awoken away from the man he had just traumatized, hoping to lessen the blow, though far far too late for such pity. "Anyway, let's all transmat out at the same time! For funsies! One... Two... Three!" Sigurd disappeared, Crow and both Ghosts with him.

Draknus stayed behind, looking up at Crow and Sigurd as they transmatted out. He looked back at Soxkt. For once, his knowledge of what Soxkt was feeling was not a blessing in any amount- it was a curse that gripped his throat. There were no words but silence wasn’t an option. So he weakly tried anyways.

"He's…. Uldren isn’t in there anymore. He doesn’t remember...I mean, you know how you were when your Ghost first found you. That's him now. He isn’t going to….whatever you think he can give you Soxkt, I…."

Soxkt remained deep in his silence, refusing to face Draknus, head still lifted to stare at where Crow had once been. Ventriloquist appeared over his shoulder instead but before he could slowly push out the end to "Draknus, did you-?", Soxkt had them transmatted away. Draknus let himself have a few silent minutes to wrestle with the knot in his stomach before giving up and slapping his transmat with enough force to almost shatter his wrist along with it.


	6. Consolidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling betrayed by his fireteam, Soxkt wrings answers from them on the exsistence of Crow before he is forced to confront this vulnerable, complicated part of his past himself

The fireteams' comms were empty air all the way to the Tangled Shore, all the way to the party being led by a gaggle of Spider's men leaving them in an offshoot of the reclusive hideout, awaiting an audience with the don of the shore. The heavy door shut behind the quilled vandal, leaving the three Guardians alone. Foregoing the idea of being listened in on or simply not caring, Ventriloquist reappeared in front of where his Guardian was pressed against the far wall, head low, helmeted and casting a long, antlered shadow. He broke the dreaded quiet.

"Draknus...Sigurd...you-you two...knew then. About...oh Traveler's might, how long have you known about him?" Sigurd’s face remained unflinching in Ventriloquist’s frightened whisper.

"Oh... about a year and a half." He answered plainly. No point in playing coy at this point. "Well, I didn't realize who he was at first, so less time. I haven’t exactly had many opportunities to meet and greet with Spider's pet Lightbearer." It was obvious from his tone that he had a heavy distaste for the situation. 

He folded his arms across his chest, speaking towards Soxkt, ignoring the shuddering ball of dark metal. "I was specifically asked when I found out about him to not tell anyone. Understandably, of course. I've heard some nasty things from him and Spider both about what other Guardians have put him through. Bastards make me sick."

He sighed heavily, and continued, "I was also asked to specifically not tell either of you two. You'd be surprised how much Spider knows, and how much he shared with Glint. Spider knows more about you two than I do. Fuck, maybe even more than either of you do too. Still, if that order had come only from Spider, I'd have considered telling you anyway, but Glint requested my silence as well. I think he made the request with the best intentions and, well, you were going to find out eventually. Though if I could have planned it, it wouldn't have been while saving Osiris from a literal hole into Hell."

He turned his gaze toward Draknus, voice shifting to open malice. "As for this one, though, I don't have a goddamn clue. Well, Draknus. Why did you keep our good friend Soxkt in the dark?" Floki hovered just behind Sigurd's shoulder, peeking over at Draknus as well in an attempt to be menacing.

Ventriloquist didn't turn his iris to Draknus, instead staring at the floor with a slitted eye, as though processing. But Soxkt took his helmet off, holding the skull in his hands tightly, still facing away but his eyes were focused, present. Listening. Dark. The air seemed to bleed ozone around him.

Draknus pulled off his own helmet, his face expression dropping and his eyes unable to even look at the Warlock. The guilt was palpable. "I tried to keep my mind off what Mara showed me, those...visions she sent me in the court. I didn’t want to dwell on what she was making me do, making me feel. But then…. I had read some Vanguard reports of an Awoken Lightbearer found living in a shipping crate last Dawning. The reports didn't clarify where the Lightbearer was, but I had a... feeling. I did some searching of my own, but I was never able to find him with the little intel I was able to obtain. Admittedly, I didn't want to come forward and simply ask people if Uldren Sov was revived or not. That's asking for trouble, though it would have certainly led me to Spider if I had been willing." 

He looked at Sigurd, his face incredulous. "Can't believe the answers were just an arms-reach away.”

Sigurd bristled. "Don't say that name here, you dumb bastard. Last thing we need is someone to hear it."

Ventriloquist shook his shell, baffled, voice rising as he tried to grasp an incomprehensible truth while both Hunters stared each other down. The room was becoming more unbearably warm by the second. 

"This is...this is absolutely ludicrous. Do both of you know that? You have to know that. Y-you've known, each, for a YEAR, about this, and you watched as Soxkt grappled with what you all did for so long and-and...?! Sigurd! Since when have you ever just listened to what someone asks of you? And Draknus, I don't even know why YOU didn't say anything after all...after everything!" 

There was the uncomfortable sound of bone squeezing. Soxkt's hands were clenched tighter around the helmet. His glare was clarifying and sharpening and shock was being steadily replaced with a burning fire.

Sigurd shrugged. "What can we do about that now? How much time is a year, anyway, really. We've got a long time left to live." Sigurd opened the door the Vandal had entered and spoke outside. An Eliksni was already waiting, listening as Sigurd spoke in a low voice. Inhuman clicks came from him as he spoke the local language to the Dreg, who nodded in return and made a gesture. Sigurd nodded back and closed the door. 

"They'll be ready for us soon. Soxkt," He spoke toward his friend. "I'm sorry things turned out like this. We're about to see him again, though. Do whatever you need to do to get ready for that."

"He's not ready!" Ventriloquist blurted out to both Hunters. "He isn't...how can you expect him to be?" It was clear Ventriloquist was forced to reckon with the emotions tornadoing through Soxkt as he spoke. He was unsteady where he floated, bobbing along an invisible sea. 

Draknus walked up and spoke near silently in an effort to allow only Soxkt to hear. He was almost pleading, cringing in the heat of void space radiating from Soxkt’s body. 

"I only said nothing because I had no proof. I wasn't even sure myself. The most I had was a vision that the Awoken queen gave me but-" He cut himself off with a deep, shaky breath. "You know what she's like. I had no way of knowing if she was trying to show me something, or manipulate me."

Sigurd, with a dull expression under his helmet, watched Draknus walk up to Soxkt and speak with him quietly. "Do you want me to leave? I can leave." He called, trying to mask his frustration. 

It hurt to put on this apathetic front. It hurt to watch Soxkt go through this. But he knew better than most that if Soxkt didn’t explode now...he would explode later. Possibly in front of the Spider himself. The Spider’s grace only extended so far, and it’d either be his head or theirs’ at that point. He wasn’t willing to see either roll.

Soxkt took a half step back, flattening against the wall, jaw locking. His pupils dilated. 

Don’t lose it.

“Soxkt, you have to believe me…” Draknus didn’t move forward but he didn’t give up either. 

Soxkt’s imagination bled and he imagined what it would be like to beat his best friend’s face in with the helmet in his hands. Bone shattering bone. Don’t lose it. Antlers to gouge deep and tear where they snagged. Blood on blue skin, running hot and thin and coloring the grey room. The destruction of his hope and perseverance incarnate. Don’t lose it. His muscles twitched. Just once, he wanted to walk into furious release eyes wide and arms open. He wanted to look inside himself and bask in the Darkness he knew rested there, the umbral core, the call to the deep that would make this all hurt a little less.

Draknus touched his elbow gently, like the drag of a trip wire. 

KILL HIM.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Soxkt looked inside himself and found only the hollowness of wasted redemption. Though anger still crossed his face, Draknus's words were slowly dropping it once again, gently cooling the near catastrophic rage barely beneath the surface. 

Ventriloquist spoke up slowly, dictating the words as they were sent to him, never revealing how close his Guardian came to questionable acts. "He...he says he's spent so long being lectured by you and Sigurd and our friends for never handling his emotions properly...and for a thousand other faults of his. He says he wants to know...he wants to know when you'll trust him someday to make the right choices, even if it's hard. What was so worth keeping him in the dark on?" 

Ventriloquist turned his piercing blue gaze to look at Sigurd over Draknus's shoulder. "He says that goes for you too. He says you have never been anything but honest with him- your excuses aren't going to cut it."

Sigurd directed a steely gaze towards Soxkt and slowly became the third to remove his helmet. That one blue eye betrayed so much turmoil. His expression was hard to parse as he took in Soxkt’s demeanor. "I intended to tell you, eventually. To be honest with you, this isn't a conversation I wanted to have here, and now." He paused for a moment, picking his words carefully. "There was a time, another thing I was waiting for to tell you. It..." He trailed off, staring for a moment. "It's time for us to go in now." He replaced his helmet and opened the door, stepping inside with a long stride.

"Uhhh." Draknus just stared at Sigurd’s back, slack jawed. "That's not super helpful you know. You're just avoiding the situation. Wait, wait, Sigurd, come back!" He reached out to grab at thin air before he rubbed the back of his head, his hair taking several moments to settle back into its usual curve. "God dammit. Why does the universe always need to come in and fuck with me like this?!"

A hand gently took the fabric at Draknus's bicep, tugging, almost childlike if the scarred roughened hand wasn't attached to a young god killing machine. Soxkt didn't raise his eyes. A tremble ran down his shoulder to his hand. Ventriloquist beeped softly instead. 

"He says he wants an answer from you too, and soon, but it can wait. He's going to prove to you he's stronger than you think, that he can be there for the people he loves. And he..." Soxkt quietly cut in, speaking deep in his chest, stuttering over the few short words he could manage. 

"I...I am...scared, Draknus." 

The fingers tightened. Hurt pride creased Soxkt's brow but he tightened his mouth to a thin line to cease its quivering.

Draknus rested a hand on Soxkt's, gaze soft, seemingly fully unaware of the violence he was inches from moments ago. "Hey, there’s no need to be scared. I didn't want to hide anything from you- I simply didn't want to make you worry over what might be nothing." 

His voice shifted to anger and he looked over his shoulder once more. "I still have no idea why Sigurd would hide something so critical from us though. Especially from you. It pisses me off." 

He looked up at Ventriloquist, trying to compose himself. "Be careful about what you say about the Prince in there. If Spider is keeping his past from him, then we don't want to bring it up."

"You don't need to tell me. I will gladly and happily stay shut away from that creep." 

With that, Ventriloquist vanished with hardly a sparkle in the air above Soxkt's shoulder, leaving the two alone. Soxkt seemed fixated on the hand grasping his, as though it was the single thing still tethering him to some aspect of sanity. 

"What if I fall apart in there?" He says quietly, nervous but raising his eyes to look at Draknus dead-on, as though knowing the answer he's already going to get.

Draknus reached out and ruffled Soxkt's hair, his mouth pulling into an impossibly easy smile as he said simply, "Easy- just don't. I believe in you."

Soxkt slapped the hand away, smoothing down the front of his hair, mumbling "Dork..." as a smile threatened to pull at the corners of his mouth. He stared at the cracked open door in front of them, the shadow of Sigurd's form already gone and farther down the hall then they could see. He breathed in hard, holding his breath tight in his chest. He gingerly fixed his helmet back over his face and with the safety of the skull front keeping his expression safe, walked with heavy steps out of the room, letting each footfall echo off the hideout's dull walls. Before he fully left, the bow on his back transmatted away and was replaced with the same shotgun from earlier, still gory with the Hive along the barrel.

Draknus followed close behind, smiling. His Ghost muttered to him privately, "You know you barely got out of that without him taking your head off, right?"

Draknus only smiled more, now in a strange smug satisfaction, chest puffing slightly, "Yeah. I know."

...

Sigurd was tapping his foot impatiently as Draknus and Soxkt approached the Spider's throne. The Eliksni baron leered at them, and spoke to an uncomfortable-looking Crow at his side, cleaning up the end of some near finished conversation. 

"So, you've met some of my other business partners, I see. The slayer of Crota, and the reason the Tower still stands today. They still choose to come back here to me," he wheezed. "I think that lesson should speak for itself."

"Yes, my Baron."

"That will be all for now." The Spider waved Crow away, who bowed and walked gratefully away, back to his post further within Spider's lair. The so-called Baron wasted no time shifting his attention to the two newcomers. 

"Well, I see introductions have already been made, so we needn't waste any time on further frivolities. I’ve been made aware of this Hive infestation and how deep it runs. Speak with my new enforcer. There are new powers settling on the Reef, and a business threat to me is as much your problem as it is mine. Take care of this, and we'll all benefit."

Sigurd spoke up, having been uncharacteristically silent. "You didn't mention a ne-"

"These ones are very new, my friend."

Draknus stepped forward. "I am not here to help a friend with whatever job you are currently contracting out. I have questions, and any work I do will be in trade."

The Spider gave a gruff laugh in response. "Ha! You act so suspicious, yet I've told you everything you need to know. What more do you need to work? I'm sure that my little bird can answer whatever questions you have."

Draknus clenched his fist. "Your ‘new employee’ can't answer questions about what he doesn't know, Spider." He spat the name with disgust. "I need to know how you came across your-... Crow. Where has he been roaming, how much have you shared with the Awoken, and what does his Ghost know about his Lightbearer?"

That elicited another laugh from the Eliksni, nestling deeper upon his throne. "Oh, is that all? I can give you... some of that." He shifted slightly, resting his chin upon one of his many arms. "What I can tell you is that your Lightbearer formerly known as the Prince of the Reef had the fortune of coming into my care some time ago, and it's a good thing too. Your comrades didn't seem too fond of him. You should have heard the tales he told me- almost made me shed a tear!"

"As for that little morsel of his, it knows everything about what happened. It knows you three," he said, eliciting a confirming nod from Sigurd, "and it knows what you did. Your….bloody work." He wheezed heavily before continuing. "The only servants of the Tower that know about him are either the ones that gave him those frightening stories earlier, or the ones in this room. The Queen either doesn't know or doesn't care- she hasn't come for him in any case."

"Now, one last important point, just so we can all be on the same page." Sigurd braced, knowing what was coming. "To ensure my little bird's protection, I had some safety measures installed on his Ghost's shell. If he should stray too far from the Reef without my permit..." He laughed darkly. "Well, that'll be some scrap wasted! But you see, it's just to ensure he doesn't leave my protection, where he's safe. Now go. I’ve given you more than enough and I have no more time for you."

Sigurd got behind the other Guardians, wrapped his arms around them, and started pushing them down the hallway before either could respond to what the Spider had just said. Soxkt, with sudden force, wrenched free from Sigurd's grip. He stood, arms braced at his side, and steadily the smell of ozone warped the scent of the room. No expression could be glimpsed from his bone front and no words were pushed through his throat but his intention was an inferno, a barely restrained one at that. He was as still as a drawn back arrow, one long second away from being fired.

Sigurd quickly turned, freezing behind Soxkt. "Socks," he said quietly, "this won't help him."

The Spider leered down at Soxkt. He waited for a moment before speaking. "Our business here is concluded. Go, Hero of the Tower. Or can you not stomach your vengeance?"

With stiff limbs and some effort, Soxkt let himself be pulled away by Sigurd’s insistent hand. However, they had barely rounded the corner from the Spider when the Warlock turned on his friend, hands dug deep into his cloak front, slamming him against the scrap metal wall, practically pulling his feet from the floor. Soxkt's snarl came through clear, the tiny embers in his helmet's eyes boring through Sigurd's. 

"You knew."

Sigurd spoke quickly, choked, restraining his voice. "Socks, I had a good reason for not telling you, but you gotta be quiet o-" 

“A BOMB-?!”

“Damnit, kid, keep it down-!”

"Um, Sigurd?" A voice came from down the hall. Crow stood nervously, watching the only other Light-bearing friend he had being shoved against a wall. All heads turn to take him in. He was lithe, holding himself with grace but without power, like a swan who had yet to learn the power of its bite. Such a far cry from the arrogance he once embodied, the barely restrained detest and hurt that bruised across his face. Glint hovered over his shoulder, spectating quietly. "Is-?"

"Everything's fine, kid. Just a little disagreement between friends." Sigurd kept his gaze steady on Soxkt, speaking slowly. “My good friend here is...he’s got a big heart. He’s upset about your…. situation. Like me. He wants to help.”

“We all do.” Draknus said, stepping closer into the room, breezing by where Soxkt had Sigurd pinned, drawing attention to himself with practice grace. “We know we’re here for a job that involves us all but there’s a lot more going on here than just that. Namely, you and what you’re doing here in the Spider’s care. What you’ve gone through.” Draknus cleared his throat and stepped further in. “I’m Draknus. I work with the Vanguard and with Spider from time to time.”

Soxkt’s grip had slackened enough for Sigurd to shoulder his way free without much of a fight. 

“He’s a big shot hero. Known for putting Hives down, in fact. I pulled all the stops to deal with this. Your pal Sigurd has your back!” Sigurd attempted to slap Draknus’s back in an effort to look friendly but instead put a fist size bruise between his shoulder blades. Shockingly, Crow smiled, briefly staying the two Hunters and their own agendas. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know you.” Crow said apologetically.

“I much prefer you didn’t, if we are being honest.” Draknus quickly filled in as Sigurd dead panned “Good, your expectations won’t be gutted.” The older Hunter daintily cleared his throat. “He’s a bit before your time, I mean.”

Sigurd didn’t even attempt to mask the breath he took, calculated and deep. “And...and my friend here.” He reached back and dragged Soxkt between him and Draknus by the sleeve, containing him between their bodies. “Do you want to introduce yourself now?” Sigurd wasn’t one to ever treat Soxkt with the gloves he sometimes needed to be treated with- live bombs were best dealt with in the aftermath, not before. But even Soxkt could feel the trepidation in his tone right now. It was more than just the fall out of what could happen here; it was something more Sigurd was keeping safe. Something Soxkt itched to heel turn on but his mind wouldn’t pull itself away from the Crow standing before him, who was waiting. Withdrawn. Nervous. But expecting.

It was all laid out before him, like glimpses of the cosmos through the ether soaked atmosphere of the shore. Soxkt had dreamt of moments just like these, where it was nothing but him and the handsome, nostalgic face before him now. The dreams were wild, hysterical, maniacal things that dealt a catharsis that lasted only until he awoke, sweating and heart racing. They were violent sometimes. They were passionate others. The worst ones were slow and soft, where Soxkt felt the hours of sleep drip by in real time, lying in arms that weren’t real, breathing in time with breath long gone. There, in these scapes did he enjoy the taste of saying everything inside of him with his own tongue. He was not so arrogant to dream without consequence for the things he said but not so brave as to dream without forgiveness for them.

The words built and crowded in the spaces between his bones. He could impart so much on this new Light. He could do what had been done to him long ago. Crow looked at him without innocence but his eyes still held purpose and hope. Did the little Guardian hiding in the coils of the Reef ever have those eyes? Did he deserve to have them? Soxkt looked at his hands and thought of what they could say. Everything he wished he could say, everything he had practiced saying alone at night.

“I watched you die.”

“I let them kill you.”

“Forgive me, please, anything, just say you forgive me.”

“Your death was my undoing and it deserved none of that responsibility.”

“I mourned you because I was mourning myself.”

“You took everything from me and never stopped taking after.”

“I wish your death had healed a fraction of the hurt you caused.”

“This body betrayed you lifetimes ago.”

“This body misses you in ways the mind can not.”

“I was afraid then and I’m afraid now. If I step too close, look too close, breathe in too deep, what will we become?”

“I didn’t have a right to miss the you my mind conjured.”

“Can the Light bring back everything I laid to rest?”

"How much of this is real, how much of this is the long forgotten past, how much is this the whims of beings so much greater?"

“Why couldn't we learn to stay dead?"

…

His hands remained silent. Instead, the helmet came off in his hands.

“Hey.” Soxkt breathed, throat raspy from the silent panicked breathing he had been doing for the past two hours, scraping his scar along the roof of his mouth once his mouth fell shut. He could feel Sigurd and Draknus jolt at his sides and wheel to face him, damage control ready on the tips of their willful tongues, so unlike his own. Even Glint seemed to wheel in his shell, expanding in shock, though his iris turned to watch his own charge’s face. Soxkt ignored them, eyes locked forward, and waited for impact with a resolute heart.

Ventriloquist’s shell was cold against the side of his neck. A small promise. A silent You’ll never fall alone. Soxkt fought the urge to curve back against the touch.

Crow blinked and tilted his head. His mind hummed, his eyes searching Soxkt’s face openly, chasing something down the paths of his short memories, and then...a flicker. The same one, bright in his already burning golden eyes. It was recognition. But instead of draining the color from his face, it almost seemed to light a wick within the young Guardian and he glowed from the inside, showcasing the swirls of light beneath his pale skin. The recognition in his stare remained until it was nothing as Crow’s smile crinkled his eyes shut.

“Wait, I...I know you. You’re the hero of the red war. You…” Crow chuckled awkwardly at his own enthusiasm, arms crossing uncomfortably to wall himself away as he shot a look at his Ghost, but one last hushed sentence muttered out from between his grinning teeth before he could silence himself.

“Your name is Soxkt... and you saved the Light.”

There was no impact. The ground never found him, no matter how long Soxkt held his breath and coaxed himself to brace. He looked down but there was nowhere to land, no surface to take him. Just sky. He wasn’t falling. He had never been falling.

He was flying.


	7. Love Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow begins to wonder if he will ever break through the shell of the mute Warlock he works alongside, agonizing over their strained relationship, while juggling the concern over who is leaving him food to eat in the evenings...

The motions come easily, like the rhythm of the metronome. Bounties, glimmer, exchange, goodbyes. Bounties, glimmer, exchange, goodbyes. It was supposed to become a pattern, something consistent and easy to digest each time. But every day, he couldn’t help but hope, just a little. His heart was starting to wear out from the daily spike in excitement that led nowhere.

“Thank you, Crow. We’ll see you out on the field later today.” Ventriloquist said brightly, inclining his shell in a tiny bow before zipping behind Soxkt’s head. Crow held his breath and dared not look too boldly into the helmeted front of the Warlock. Soxkt’s hand lifted slowly and gave a terse wave before he heel turned and quickly skidded his way out of the Spider’s den, almost slamming his hip into the wall as he did. Crow slumped against the workbench, letting himself exhale finally. Glint sidled himself up against Crow’s shoulder comfortingly.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

“My expectations are getting lower by the day and I’m still getting disappointed. It’s pathetic.”

“I don’t think that’s fair to either of you. And remember, he said hi to you once! Out loud!” Glint paused and his flaps hung slightly. “Ok, well, maybe that does sound….unimpressive out of context.”

Crow absentmindedly patted his eternally optimistic Ghost. He appreciated the time and mental effort his Ghost allowed him to put towards something that was hardly a problem in the face of everything else they were going through. Much as he complained like now, this 'problem' of cracking open the shell that encased the Hero of the Red War was a nice and easy distraction to all other things. It made him feel normal for just a moment. It distracted from the fuzzy buzzing in the brain and directed him to something much more palpable.

Crow had figured this wasn’t something for him to get used to in the first place anyways. That first verbal greeting Soxkt gave to Crow when they first met was met with such shock, it was nearly relieving when the great hero fell into quiet once again in all hunts and visits to come. His fireteam of Hunters were certainly talkative enough to make up for it. Soxkt wasn’t without his means of communication anyways, that much was obvious. Sign language carried him far and his Ghost was a ready conduit for him in battle when his hands were preoccupied. 

It still seemed in the Crow’s presence, however, Soxkt was unable to even use his hands to communicate. They typically were restless when face to face, fidgeting in front of him, picking at his armor, drumming against his gauntlets, formless and wordless. Any talking came from the mouth of his Ghost. Crow knew he shouldn’t mind, knew he shouldn’t feel slighted or hurt or let down. He even played along in a ploy to make Soxkt feel comfortable, letting Glint speak for him as well. ‘Conversations’, if you could call it that, now usually involved the two Guardians awkwardly standing near one another, refusing to be the first to try and make eye contact, while their Ghosts chattered away and exchanged information merrily.

“Is it obvious he’s excited to talk to someone else beside me?” Crow had joked to Soxkt once as Glint regaled Ventriloquist with yet another embellished tale of bravery out on the shore of the Reef, turning a quick bounty purchase into a twenty minute pocket of very strange energy. The response was stiff silence and Crow agonized for hours over his own stupidity once the Guardian and his Ghost departed.

He looked forward to interactions with Sigurd and Draknus all the more after times such as that, as though to wash the taste of these uncomfortable interactions from his mouth. He did his best to not bemoan his petty troubles but each Hunter carried a look in their eye, an all-knowing twinkle that Crow frankly prickled with jealousy at. They were all clearly more than just Guardians working for the sake of efficiency but bound by something more.

“I hope you don’t take any of it too personally.” Draknus had once told him entirely unprompted, using Crow’s hideaway to mess with the lure modifications he had only recently acquired. “Soxkt’s just a big ball of feelings and he’s never been good at unwinding. Count in your unique, err, ‘position’ on top of this Wrathborn stuff, Europa stuff, yadda yadda, and I think he’s just trying not to explode like a Pike engine. Don’t think about it too much and give him space.”

Crow meant to pry more but then Draknus’s lure made a guttural spitting noise and spat out an ashy cloud of sulfur and for a moment, he was reminded of the much more real threat going on around him as he hurried over. The cycle wouldn’t break however- his young mind had grown addicted to the rush of worrying about that not worth worrying about. It was a relief that made his lonely hours storm by instead of trickle.

Sigurd most upsettingly displayed rare moments of candor and vagueness as opposed to his typical forwardness when Crow could not help his prying comments about the Warlock’s lack of communication with him. The old man had a lot going for him but a steady poker face wasn’t one of them in this respect.

“He’ll warm up to you, he’s just…. shyyyyyyy,” Sigurd slapped Crow far too hard on the shoulder with a stiff hand, “Besides, what’s the big deal? You got me, yeah? How many friends do you need? More than one? Sounds like a hassle. I can barely handle being in a fireteam. That’s why I always try to take Draknus out the first ten seconds of a hunt.”

Crow weakly smiled, “Didn’t you tell me you spent decades at a time in complete isolation from your fellow Guardian?”

Sigurd scratched at his head, “Bit more complicated than you think.” His gaze darkened for a second before his smile wiped it away. “Point is, take it easy, kid. He don’t hate you. I’ve seen what he does to people he hates and YOU have all your limbs! ….That’s a joke, Soxkt doesn’t delimb anyone. I think. Ok, I’m leaving now.” 

Sigurd unceremoniously smacked his transmat responder and blipped out of the room, leaving Crow with a bundle of half answered questions sitting on the tip of his tongue.

It wasn’t the only thing he had questions about. Lately, in the evenings, Crow was returning to find food left on his workbench. He had known for a while Sigurd would leave him rations, food that could be safely hidden in all corners of his workshop, but he was now seeing….real food. Hot food. Food that looked and smelled like nothing he had ever seen. It was always a double portion, left waiting for him in a large unmarked bag. No tracing could find who was leaving it. No careful questions to Spider revealed anything either, meaning the culprit was entirely unseen. The list of suspects was small but that only made finding the perpetrator even more confusing.

Unlike his fruitless efforts with the hero, this was a situation he could more concretely work on absolving. It didn’t take much. With a bit of communication with Spider and dealings with the salvage teams, he was able to slip his typical work rotation into a new spot, easily breaking the rhythm of his daily skull bashing and overviewing just enough to hopefully trip up the suspect. Frankly, Crow and Glint didn’t expect it to be so easy. But when intentions were so pure hearted, it did make a strange sort of sense they would also be easy to manipulate as well.

“...Soxkt?”

The Warlock yelped and promptly banged his shoulder on the corner of the wall with a sound that made Crow wince. Immediately, the black-shelled petite Ghost appeared, looking with brief concern at Soxkt before turning away, working on damage control instead.

“Crow! Hi! We-we thought you were- Spider said you were- you’re here! And that’s great and not at all an issue! That you are standing there and have seen us!” High marks for enthusiasm and effort, at least.

“What are you doing here? Did you need something?” He couldn’t take his eye off his workbench, which Soxkt had conveniently blocked most of with his body, awkwardly splayed in front of it.

“No, no, we don’t need anything, we were just….leaving. We were just leaving right now in fact. Yup! Sorry to bother you-”

Crow flexed his Light, just a twitch, and crossed the few feet between them in an instance, putting himself almost flush to the Warlock’s chest. Soxkt didn’t flinch. He continued to stare at Crow through the stag’s dead eyes. Silently, as he did in all things, he straightened himself and stepped aside with a lead foot.

A familiar package waited for Crow.

“You...you haven’t tried any Last City food. Couldn’t have. I- we can’t even imagine what you HAVE been forced to eat. So…” The Ghost trailed off softly and turned his shell, rotating as though to point at the large brown paper bag sitting on the workbench. “Ta-da?”

Ventriloquist waited for the meaning to slot into Crow’s head. It took more time than expected but when it did his, the glow of his eyes burned like sunlight as his eyebrows jumped and his mouth popped open in a gentle ‘o’. Soxkt squirmed like an anxious child.

“You’re our mystery gifter?!” Glint sputtered.

“You’ve been...how long have you- Guardian, you didn’t….” 

The words crumbled to dust in his mouth. There was no reason to say the sentiment he had been feeling. It must’ve been obvious from the cut of his cheekbone and the width of his wrist he wasn’t exactly well fed. And knowing of his life in any small amount would suggest quite clearly a life devoid of the finer things or the most basic of things too. Like hot food that kept his belly full. Like a gift that nourished his body the way the Light couldn’t- not just by the tiny molecules that made up the cells of every bite of food but in the way his very soul felt when he dragged his feet back to his prison and saw the sign of someone else’s care. Care for him. Beyond the small feats of kind smiles or a friendly word. A real, tangible, physical, consumable act of affection. It warmed him more than any spicy broth, warmed him so well he stayed awake long into nights, cradling himself, feeling the taut skin of his stomach from overindulgence, and etching the moment into his memory.

Soxkt was good. Soxkt was a hero. It only made sense he would do something like this. To say he shouldn’t or that he didn’t have to would discredit the very thing that made him such a Guardian. So Crow bit his tongue and he staunched the sudden flow of tears pooling behind his eyes with a few well learned breaths. He tugged the front of his hood lower down his face.

“I’m….not sure how to thank you for this. Nor do I understand why you kept this such a secret from me.” He glanced over his shoulder and dropped his voice. “And, frankly, your ability to get it all in past Spider is something I’ll need to question you more on later.”

Soxkt responded by taking the bag and holding it out in front of him. There was an energy about him; his anxiety had softened to something more innocent. Something.... excitable. Crow gingerly took the bag and with a small gesture, Glint dutifully stood guard in front of the entrance.

“He….he’s saying a lot right now,” Ventriloquist filled in, “But let me speak for him and just say a thank you is more than enough. We don’t want anything else. All we wanted to do was make this all a bit more bearable for you. We don’t know when we’ll be able to help you for the last time but we hope it’s sooner rather than later.” The bittersweet words hugged Crow tight and he felt the urge to cup that Ghost in his hands and nuzzle it against his cheek.

He resisted. He swallowed. His face burned but two words had never been easier to say to another person.

“....Thank you.”

Soxkt slowly unfolded his crossed arms and made a simple movement, bringing a flat hand to his chin and moving it away. Crow could feel his eyes boring through the helmet. Hesitantly, he copied the movement.

“That means ‘thank you’ in sign language.” Ventriloquist whispered.

Soxkt gave two thumbs up. Crow almost burst into laughter at the sheer awkwardness of it all. Somehow seeing all this made it all the clearer in his head that this really was the Guardian who wore such lofty titles as the ones he had heard. A weight was lifting off his chest and as he sat himself on the floor and pulled the bag into his lap, he worked to carefully reveal his feast for the night.

Two bulging cylinders were wrapped in shiny silver at the bottom of the bag, side by side. It was warm to the touch and the wrapping came away easy to reveal an almost flaky, bread like….thing. Crow’s stomach growled with a pang that almost made him buck forward at the incredible scent it gave off. 

“So….what have you brought me today?” He poked the pale exterior. It was soft but heavily textured beneath the thin covering. Ventriloquist boldly swooped in to nudge Crow’s finger aside when he began to try and pierce through the outside with his nail.

“It’s called a burrito. There’s meat and vegetables and rice inside it. You bite through the outside and eat it too. It’s very good!” Soxkt nodded furiously along with him.

No reason now to begin doubting either of them now, Crow supposed. He cautiously bit through the outer layer and was delighted when it easily gave away to the stuffed inside, billowing steam into his mouth and immediately leaking sauce onto his pants. He didn’t care nor pause in his desecration of the food. He had already gotten through four mouthfuls before he realized Soxkt had lowered himself to the floor as well and made himself comfortable across from him, cross legged, helmet coming off to settle in his lap. His mouth was straight but there was a lightness around his eyes, a silent joy at watching him. The Hunter coughed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his glove, trying not to curl up and pop from embarrassment. 

“It’s….it’s very good. Impossibly. There’s so much flavor. I didn’t think food could taste like so many things at once.” Soxkt’s chest swelled and the smile did then appear as Ventriloquist spun his shell proudly.

“Food isn’t nearly as plentiful as it once was before the Red War but the citizens of the Last City do incredible things with what’s available to them.” He paused sharply and when he spoke next, his tone shifted to obviously dictate the stream of consciousness connecting through to him. “I know this is kind of a lot. We can leave if you would-”

“No. Stay.” Another bite was much more delicately bitten off the burrito. “And, you know, if it’s a hassle, you don’t need to bring me two portions. Unless the second portion has always been meant for Glint, in which case I’m sorry to say it’s been going to me instead. When he develops a mouth, he is free to take his dinner.” Crow teased around a mouthful of pork that shredded between his teeth with a sweet and sour burst. 

Surprisingly, Soxkt responded with a flush, hugging his helmet close to his chest, guiltily staring at a pock mark on the floor. Ventriloquist stared pointedly at his Guardian’s turned away face before rolling his iris and looking at Crow, markedly exasperated.

“That second portion has been….well. Take a look.” The Ghost flicked his iris pointedly at the burrito. Crow blinked and flipped the tinfoil around. A ‘C’ was scrawled in dark ink across the crinkled surface. He peered at the bag at his side. A ‘S’ was staring back up at him.

The second burrito was slid across the floor and nudged the toe of Soxkt’s boot. The Warlock stared at it and then at Crow, a silent question. The rogue Hunter propped his cheek in his hand and smirked.

“What? It’s got your name on it and everything. It’s probably best I maintain a little restraint. I’m not so cruel as to eat your food too, you know.”

Soxkt’s smile moved slow across his face like the way fire ate and curled at the edges of parchment. He greedily took his parcel, tearing the wrapper and tearing a bite out at least two sizes bigger than he should’ve. It was a good excuse to muffle his knee jerk reply which Ventriloquist relayed, sinking with relief against Soxkt’s propped up knee.

“He says he knows. You aren’t cruel. You’re good. He’s sure of it.”

If Crow had felt warm before, he was a bonfire on a summer night now, roaring, frightening the stars that his ember edges might consume the inky sky.


	8. COMMS:LOG:001478_XHQD

[COMMS:LOG:001478_XHQD. LOCATION: DRMNG_CTY. HUNT: #38]

DRAK_001: “Did you catch that one by any chance, Crow? Pretty impressive, eh? When you get a little more Light refinement, you can REALLY play assassin with the Hive. Bet even you couldn’t see me when I- snap- vanish.”

SIG_001: “This is dumb. You’re dumb. Crow already knows he likes the Golden Gun. I found him first and showed it to him. It’s our thing, fucker. Maybe you should have found him first if you wanted to convince him of your wrong opinion.”

DRAK_002: “Easy there, Sigurd! Our friend can have multiple options! Unless you’re just jealous he’s gonna realize smoke bombs are way cooler than your flashy cowboy shtick….”

GHST_001: “Draknus, please-”

SIG_002: “I’m not saying he can’t have options, he just already knows what he likes. Not to speak for my good friend, of course. Though to speak for him anyways, he likes Golden Gun the best. Glint told me he practices it and tries to copy me sometimes because I’m such a good mentor, who has clearly imparted the right knowledge to our New Light here.”

FLKI_001: “Yeah that’s right, tell him Sigurd!”

SIG_003: “Oh I’m telling him.”

DRAK_003: “I mean, if we want to play this game, of course he’s copying you! You have the easiest to mimic and learn set of tools. It takes more advanced skillwork to wield the Void. I mean, sure, I can let you have this one if it means so much to you. You need SOMETHING to look forward to at your age. A lil’ student is just what a Warlord needs.”

SIG_004: “Floki, go ahead and tell him.”

FLKI_002: “You sure?”

SIG_005: “Yeah, go for it. Like we practiced earlier.”

GHST_002: “What is going on?”

FLKI_003: “Drankus you can… go fuck yourself!”

SIG_006: “Attaboy, Floki.”

GHST_003: “Oh, yes, good job, very impressive, look we have a group of acolytes that just spawned-”

DRAK_004: “See, Crow, this is the kind of Guardian who uses Golden Gun. Me? Stayin’ calm, stayin’ cool, not acting like a child who just learned to swear for the first time. Who’s going to earn the Vanguard’s respect at the end of the day? Me…. or the one throwing a tantrum?”

SIG_007: “I’m sure Crow is plenty capable of earning respect on his own, you dick. Whether he decides to use Void or a better, cooler kind of element. Like Solar and nothing else.”

GHST_004: “Um, gentlemen, uh, I think your cover has been blown. Guys?”

DRAK_005: “Ooooh, I know what this is. You’re jealous I can wield the Void! Ha! Oh, Sigurd. You’ve always been jealous of me being younger than you and more accomplished. You know, an actual Guardian and not some washed up lord.”

SIG_008: “The only thing I’m jealous of you for is the fact that you don’t have to hear yourself talk. You are the single most arrogant person on or off the Tower and I think it would be pretty cool if you acted more like Soxkt, either in being humble, or not talking as much.”

GHST_005: “GUYS-”

SIG_009: “Guys? I thought you said they were acolytes!”

FLKI_004: “It’s hard to find good help these days.”

The Nova Bomb rattled the surrounding architecture of the Dreaming City and burst the open comm feed to horrendous white noise. Crow winced and quickly slid a finger across his helmet to mute the monstrous noise. He instead craned his neck and watched in real time as the black hole consumed the bones of the Hive Knight until nothing was left except the Warlock who floated high above, pulsing with the purple energy still. The monstrous Wrathborn had been halted barely feet away from the cover the two Hunters had been bickering in. Sigurd batted away a chunk of dry flesh that floated on the wind as he stood.

“Yes, well, Hunters can keep whatever they have. Warlocks can actually finish the job.” Ventriloquist smugly retorted as Soxkt gently floated down, barely disturbing the grass beneath his boots as he landed. His head was held high as he casually loaded shell after shell into his shotgun, facelessly exuding a rare level of self satisfaction.

Glint cheekily nudged himself under Crow’s slack jaw to prop it shut. “He’s waiting for a response.” He tried not to giggle as Crow fumbled with his rifle, tucking it under his arm and switching the comm back on.

“That was….very clean, Warlock. You’ve made quite the impression.” Crow bit his tongue halfway through his stumbled compliment and he tried not to transmat back onto his ship in despair immediately.

“Impression on who?” Draknus deadpanned, “I have to see him pull this flashy shit every day. Sometimes multiple times a day.”

“Some people haven’t grown bitter like you to witnessing talent.” Ventriloquist snapped back.

Sigurd cut in, waving his Ace of Spades around with reckless abandon. “Oh so you can throw a big void ball, big whoop, I’d like to see you shoot a hand cannon for once, a weapon that requires SKILL-!”

Crow brought his knees to his chest and shut his eyes, lulled by the in-fighting that grew louder and louder as the fireteam made their way across the Dreaming City scape. It was easier to imagine he was in the middle of the clamor, a part of it, not just a spectator to it. The ache of loneliness was soothed by this rowdy group of Guardians but it was also a harsh reminder that he nursed that quiet hurt all the same. Even as weeks ticked by and their stays grew longer at his side, it served to both carve at his loneliness….and soothe it as well. Through the noise, Soxkt’s throaty chuckle cut clean and his mumble was soft enough to go almost unheard.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Crow?”

Each Guardian and Ghost went silent then. Crow balled himself up tighter, smiling softly to himself.

“....No comment.”

He was happy to hear his response make everyone share in a bit of a laugh and cleared the underlying tone of real frustration that had been lingering. Sigurd’s toothy grin was easy to picture with his signing off comment.

“None required, kid.”

Crow waited until he was sure they had all departed the Dreaming City before slowly untangling himself and heading back to his ship. He painted an indulgent picture as he walked. He imagined clean streets of bustling people who smiled at him. He imagined speaking loudly, grappling for the attention of his fireteam without any fear of lashing out. He imagined Sigurd, Draknus, the faceless clan they spoke of swirling around him as though Crow was simply a piece of them. He even let himself tiptoe into the idea of Soxkt, at his side, his Ghost tucked away as he let himself talk to Crow, innocently unaware of what such a simple gift he was giving. He imagined being able to touch Soxkt’s hand and what it would be like to simply feel a soothing touch back, something tender, something serene.

Crow watched Soxkt’s hands a lot, blissfully unaware at how often Soxkt did the same.


	9. Lasting Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow is challenged by a mystery challenger at the Reef's best (and only) bar and he brings a Guardian along for small talk and insurance

“Someone’s….challenged you?”

Crow gave the purple haired Hunter a stern look as he motioned for him to keep his voice down. Draknus pressed a hand over his mouth and waited in tentative silence beside his fireteam who were watching him with equal concern. Crow strained to listen but Spider was still in quiet talks with one of the salvage teams. He continued talking, voice barely above a whisper.

“That isn’t the issue. I’ve been challenged before. They know to go to the Empty Tank because that’s where I usually am,” Crow crossed his arms tightly. “The issue is….I’m not usually warned in advance. They just show up waving a gun around, hollering for me. But last night the owner told me there would be someone waiting for me tonight and to be ready. I don’t know anything else.”

The fireteam was quiet. Crow shifted uncomfortably in their silence.

“I don’t like asking for help outside of what I’ve already asked you to do. In this case, though, I just have a bad feeling.”

All three nodded slowly. Draknus and Soxkt appeared to be deep in thought but Sigurd was glancing back and forth between the two, as though waiting for a cue. It came in the form of Draknus nodding once, a smirk replacing his worried grimace, but right as his mouth opened, Sigurd caught him by the throat.

“Soxkt can help you,” Sigurd said, literally strangling the offer from Draknus’s lips. “I got work to do and this hero has to help me. You’ll have to settle with the other hero here.”

Soxkt’s eyes hadn’t refocused just yet, glaring into nothing as his leg bounced, mind a hundred lightyears away. Ventriloquist jabbed his cheek and Soxkt’s head popped up. He blinked at the stares pointed at him.

“We’re free tonight, anyways.” Ventriloquist said. “Aren’t we?”

Soxkt nodded, unsure, but then faster as the context hit him. Crow tried to hide his relief. Though things had improved with Soxkt over the weeks, he was still unable to clear the hurdle of unfamiliar strangeness in their interactions. He stepped forward towards Crow as Draknus wrenched Sigurd’s fist from his throat and the two engaged in a whispered battle behind them.

“Should we come fully armed?” Ventriloquist whispered. Crow shook his head.

“No, no. We shouldn’t be fighting anything our Light or a sidearm can’t handle.” Crow looked at the bone dappled armor Soxkt wore and frowned. “In fact, maybe you could dress a little less….”

“Guardian-esque?”

“Macabre. But, sure, that works. Might make things go a little smoother when I bring you in.”

Soxkt self consciously twisted to look at himself and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Ventriloquist nodded it’s shell.

“That’s not a problem. We’ll find you in a few hours then.” The tiny Ghost nudged Soxkt’s shoulder, herding his anxious Warlock to the exit. “And, uh, I’d break up those two if you can.”

The room startled as Sigurd’s hand cannon went off with an echoing bang in an attempt to shoot Draknus’s foot during their squabble. When the room was cleared, Crow found himself no longer with any doubts that he was taking easily the best man for the job. At least, out of the selection he had available to him.

…

Crow’s smile is plastic and as the Captain turns away from the table at the arrival of a stoop backed Vandal, his hand slides his shot in front of Soxkt. With a gratefulness that did not go unnoticed, the Warlock took and downed the burning alcohol with the same ease as he had with his own glass. Crow had to stifle his snort as the Captain turned to speak to them once again, rising half from his seat and bowing low at the waist.

“He says he needs to be excused for a moment. He has his own dealings that need to be handled,” Glint translated dutifully. “But, hey, he also says open bar! Kinda. I couldn’t get a direct translation but I think your pickings will remain limited to the bottom shelf stuff.”

“How kind. THANK YOU.” Crow deadpans with the same static grin, convincing enough in his tone for the Captain to again incline his heavy head before stalking off, ducking through to a dark corner of the bar and out of sight, a few bar stragglers following in his wake as he did.

They’d both been there for about ten minutes. Soxkt had shown up to the Reef perfectly on time, dressed with hardly a stitch of armor visible on him and silvery sidearm holstered to his hip. Without the mystical robes or daunting helmets adorning him, Crow was stunned at how soft and vulnerable he looked. It felt almost wrong to be able to glimpse his collarbone, his bare forearms laced with scarring. He tried to remain hooded once they joined the throngs of Eliksni inside, but only a few minutes in the warm humidity of the bar had cast it aside. It wasn’t required anyways. None had thrown much more than a paranoid look their way since the owner had spotted them and swept them to where they sat now. Drink was pushed upon them both and no sign of a supposed challenge could yet be seen.

Crow cast the Warlock at his side a look and glanced down at his scarred hands, wrapped dutifully around his glass. They were twitching.

“You don’t actually have to drink anymore of that stuff,” Crow muttered in a quiet voice, worried the tense expression the Guardian wore was due to his pushiness. Soxkt blinked as though pulled from a heavy stupor and seemed shocked to find Crow attempting to make eye contact with him. He signed close to his chest, skittishly looking away, translated by the Ghost at his shoulder.

“He says it’s bad, really bad, but he isn’t picky with his drink. And it seems like it might be a boon to you if we keep finishing off the... excess.” Soxkt smiled at the table. Crow couldn’t ignore the tiny mote of comfort that gave him. It was progress.

“I see. It does seem an easier task for you to accomplish than for me to try and finish these off.”

“We’ve had practice! Which is...maybe an uncomfortable thing to admit to. Don’t have a Hunter’s tolerance exactly but...you know.” Ventriloquist clamped shut as a Dreg stumbled by, pushing himself harder into Soxkt’s shoulder, iris wide with fear. With his silence came Soxkt’s and soon the table was flooded in uncomfortable quiet. Crow suddenly wished he had forced himself to drink so at least he had a bad taste to distract him. From somewhere in the bar, there was a burst of laughter and then the murmur continued at pace once again.

The silence dragged like nails on a chalkboard.

“Are you nervous?” Ventriloquist suddenly piped up, rotating to peer at Crow behind his Guardian’s neck. The question caught Crow off guard and his elbow almost slid off the table’s edge from where he had begun to zone out entirely.

“I have no reason to be, even if I did come alone. Spider’s mark gains me a sort of respect, one I’m not so willing to accept but do nonetheless.” Crow’s finger dragged against the paint on his hood. “Besides, I have insurance now in the form of the City’s finest Vanguards. It might only be for a brief while but I’m happy to utilize it.”

Soxkt reached up and gently rubbed Ventriloquist’s shell, as though scratching behind the ear of a cat. The Ghost wiggled against the touch as it talked. “We weren’t aware you knew of us when we first met you. Or any of us, especially Sigurd. It was, ah, surprising.”

Crow chuckled softly. “I guess it’s time as any to come clean. I really don’t know much about any of you. I know Sigurd as a colleague and an ally, maybe even a friend, but nothing of what has put him in such good esteem with the Vanguard. I assume it’s not for his work with Mithrax though.” He tugged on the ends of his hair, reciting as though from a schoolboy’s memory, “Your other Hunter, Draknus, I pieced together from Sigurd he must have killed a Hive God at some point which frankly I can’t even fathom. He certainly doesn’t hold himself like he’s done anything of the sort.”

He inhaled slowly, letting the long drag work up his courage. “And….well, you were a glimpse of a face in a feed with a title shouted. I can’t really access anything anymore thanks to Spider but before, with Glint’s help, we would sometimes be able to pick up a stray signal and catch a few seconds of news, a Crucible game, a patrol going on or some Vanguard announcement. It was just luck you were one of the glimpses we caught. I saw you, looking stern and intense, I saw that bow you carry around, and this booming voice rattle off titles to cheers..."

Crow stopped. Soxkt was glowing with the heat of his embarrassment, the glass slick between his sweaty palms. He was nearly nose to tabletop with how hunched he was. Ventriloquist had rolled off his shoulder to the table where he spoke next to the empty glass.

“That was a Crucible match by the sounds of it. We don’t typically show up there too often so that was some stupendous luck!” Ventriloquist said brightly as though to distract from the soft breakdown of Soxkt actively going on.

“R-Right? Yeah, I guess so then.” Crow felt his own face flare and nervously looked away as well, forced to let the silence kick the door down and make itself at home again between them.

“We’ve brought your shotgun into it once or twice to much success.”

Oh boy. Crow weakly raised his hand and thankfully that was enough to get two more drinks plunked down onto the table. This time, they both drank fast and gagged in unison. They accidentally met eyes and chuckled nervously at the walls. Maybe this was a mistake. Crow was pretty certain if a Cabal busted the door down screaming his name, he might not even notice for all the ways his mind was clouded now.

“Well, if not your Crucible, what do you do when you aren’t assisting me in taking the Reef back from Xivu Arath?” Crow asked, desperate to realign the conversation anywhere else.

Ventriloquist’s answer took a while. Soxkt placed his hand on his chin and seemed to genuinely think about it. When Ventriloquist spoke next, Soxkt signed alongside him.

“Let's see….we have a lot of plants we like to take care of back at home. We like to cook and read, not much for going out unless some Hunters rope us in to a ramen bar or something. Oh! Sometimes we take leftovers into the Tower hangars and feed the stray cats. Or we go down to the clan hall and make tea and try to talk to the new Lights so they don’t feel so….” Ventriloquist trailed off as Soxkt’s hands stopped signing to nervously interlock. “Oh. You were….talking about Guardian stuff, right? Not domestic.”

Crow floundered, hands waving. “Oh, no! No, no, I mean, I was initially but this, this is a lot more….I-I just didn’t really even consider what you must look like when you aren’t working. It’s hard to picture.” Crow’s arms fell limply to the table. “That’s kind of an issue, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

Soxkt’s eyes were full of sympathy and he shook his head. “Soxkt says most Guardians make work their whole life or at least they try to make it seem like it is. We, on the other hand, try really hard not to.” His hand traced an image in the table lazily, eyes glazing over. “He says it can be easy to make yourself how other people see you- trigger happy, loot chasing, always running around solving the system’s next trial. It’s a lot of that but...if he lets himself think that’s all he is, he’s only going to end up running himself into the ground and then there’ll be no more Soxkt.”

“I’m surprised you can think so calmly and rationally about these kinds of things. You always seem….”

“Anxious? He is. And he doesn’t always think this rationally. He’s just putting his best foot forward for you.” Soxkt’s hand cupped over Ventriloquist’s shell, hiding him entirely as though to muffle him. Crow chuckled.

“It’s okay. I appreciate it. I wish I could give answers like that without just getting frustrated or babbling on endlessly.”

“I think you’re being hard on yourself.” Glint piped up, “You’ve always been very eloquent when you want to be.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? Want to be. It’s enough effort sometimes to just get on with the day.” Soxkt laughed softly in his chest and signed quickly.

“He says he knows the feeling.”

“CROOOOW!”

The owner had returned though this time not alone. A second Captain was with him, draped in the colors of a house Crow could not place, dutifully trailed by a small posse of Dregs. The two Guardians sat up straight. The owner slapped his friend on the chest firmly, secondary arms spread wide as though presenting a gift to the table. The second Captain had sharp eyes that leered down at them.

“Please don’t tell me he’s saying what I think he is saying.” Crow said out of the corner of his mouth to Glint.

“The Captain wants a….’friendly match’. He’s always wanted to fight a Guardian, I guess.” Glint translated and Crow caught the way Soxkt stiffened, pulling himself up straight like a rifle at the words. Dread seeped through Crow’s body and he drummed his fingers on the table, avoiding the captive audience slowly centering on him.

He couldn’t do it. If he won under any condition, it would bruise the reputation he had been trying to build, completely shattering the image he tried to put forth as someone more than a brute and an enforcer. It would sour the ranks and lead to more challenges, more desperate attempts. Losing was out of the question entirely too. It would get back to Spider and he would be accused of letting his authority be undermined. Glint’s shell would only be the first thing on the line in such a case.

“I’m….honored but, well, you see, Spider, he-” Immediately the body language changed around him, recoiling, the Dregs hissing and chittering in clear disdain. The Captain rumbled a retort deep in his chest and Crow didn’t need any translation for that.

“I understand but it’s my responsibility, not just to him but everyone on the Reef. I wouldn’t want to tarnish what we’ve built together in case something goes wrong.” Crow felt the sweat on the back of his neck. “Please, it would be a favor if we did not go through with this, I-”

"I'll fight."

"Exactly, yes, instead my colleague here will- what?"

All heads turned to face Soxkt, except his own Ghost who simply rolled himself across the table in mild distress with a pitiful groan. Soxkt’s face was stoic and stern, staring up at the Captains unblinking, jaw locked as though he had never broken his silence. He looked exactly as he did when Crow had glimpsed him in a fuzzy feed long ago. The two Eliksni exchanged a look and clicked and snarled over one another in a verbal slap fight of trying to discern the situation. Crow couldn’t find it in him to pay any mind.

“What are you doing?” Crow hissed half in awe, half in panic.

“His logic,” Ventriloquist piped up from the table, “Is that you clearly can’t do it yourself, win or lose. And it’s clear this guy just wants to fight a Guardian safely and is latching onto your sudden fame to do it.” Ventriloquist rolled so it’s eye was staring up at Crow. “Probably cathartic too to knock us down a peg or try to.”

Soxkt was watching Crow now, hesitant but unwavering. They’d both had the same rapid fire thought process in surprising sync. Crow couldn’t argue it, even if Glint was rattling with worry on his shoulder.

It took a bit of back and forth with the Captains, Glint translator for the bits Crow struggled to fill in himself. Soxkt watched the conversation with eyes glimpsing between the parties, body still, as though his nervous energy had drained out of him with the promise of purpose. It was hard to gauge their intentions but Crow got the feeling glimmer was on the line for everyone involved. It wasn’t about Crow- it was about spectacle and pride. He was grateful for the weight taken off his shoulders but it revealed a breadth of brand new problems as well.

“The Captain wants to know if you can vouch for Soxkt. They trust you but just some random Guardian…” Glint trailed off. Crow didn’t expect the question to stagger him so much. It seemed an obvious answer but he was reminded of the way the Eliksni spoke to him, described the rapid destruction Guardian’s brought with them. Soxkt was a hero and beloved and a friend (he could hope) but it took more than being that to break away from the mold of his ilk. Soxkt noticed Crow’s hesitance and reached across the table, gently touching the top of Crow’s hand.

Soxkt smiled.

“Yes. I vouch for him.”

Things moved in a blur and Crow felt foolish for thinking this wasn’t all meticulously set up. Tables were pushed away, drinks cleared, and Soxkt was ushered to the center of the room while the Hunter and his Ghost were left near the outskirts of the ring forming. He had barely managed to snatch Ventriloquist as he was moved, trying hard not to think about the way he now held Soxkt’s very Light within his palm. The Warlock was a good four feet shorter than the Captain and he kept himself pliable and loose as the Dregs receded to safety within the crowd. 

The great Eliksni bent low, arms spread wide, before touching his chest.

“R’kassas.”

To Crow’s astonishment, Soxkt followed suit, tapping his chest, head tilted almost ninety degrees to stare at the Captain’s from his partial kneel. 

“Sahxet.”

Soxkt’s sidearm hit the table. The room almost purred in anticipation. The Captain lowered his shrapnel rifle slowly, almost gloating at its size compared to the delicate piece beside it. He snarled and motioned to the chest piece that was strapped to his front and Soxkt didn’t request a translation- he simply lifted his shirt from the bottom, exposing the stretch of armor that lay beneath. Two Dregs scuttled forth and rapidly assessed his body before pulling away, clicking affirmation of some inspection. The Captain nodded.

“No….Great Machine’s gift.” The Captain managed to growl. Soxkt nodded once again, lifting his hands open palmed as though to display the way they were simply clawless, rough knuckled things before slowly curling them into fists and bracing himself into a stance, exhaling long and slow. He talked so little but he wore his intention on every part of his skin, every stitch across his face. His honest heart had achieved approval and as the room almost kicked itself into a frenzy, it began.

The Captain gave a shriek of intimidation, arms spread wide, and Soxkt met it with a fist that cracked directly into the Captain’s abdomen. The Eliksni bent over to croak and Soxkt used the momentum to bring his knee directly into the ether mask, causing it to briefly spit and sputter with a crunch. Crow swore loudly and was across the room faster than he typically liked to move around the Eliksni but his instincts to do so were spot on as the Captain’s revenge came in the form of his secondary arms bringing Soxkt down onto a table with a sickening crunch.

“Holy shit,” He whispered.

“I can’t watch,” Glint whimpered from within Crow’s hood. 

“Well, I’m glad he’s having fun,” Ventriloquist stated defeatedly from the other side, playing the devil to Glint’s shoulder angel.

The two Ghost bearing Guardian stared enraptured at the explosive bar fight along with every other cheering and jeering member of the bar that suddenly bunched up tightly to get a view of the carnage incurring, ringing the brawlers in. Crow blindly groped for a chair behind him and sat heavy on it.

“For the record, my glimmer’s on our hero, in case Soxkt asks who I bet on.”

“He will,” Ventriloquist cringed as the Captain sank his fist into Soxkt’s stomach and made him yelp like a wounded war beast. “I guarantee it.”  
…

Soxkt lost, though not as handedly as Crow worried he might and not with injury too dire. He worried Soxkt might be docked for the disrespectful way he had side stepped a right hook at one point and used the momentum to crack the Captain head's into the bartop, splintering the wood right past the glossy veneer. He knew the Eliksni language enough to know what the Captain threatened in that moment was a fate worse than death. Thankfully, the Warlock still had all his limbs. They were just now bruised and sore and hanging limp on either side of him from where he was not very elegantly collapsed in a chair, one of the few in the bar to remain in one piece.

Crow sat close beside him and gingerly tipped the newly bought glass to Soxkt's barely parted lips and let the icy drink trickle down in a slow stream. Soxkt moaned in pain and appreciation. 

"For no Light, that was...incredible." Glint said in a hushed voice, still in Crow’s hood, good and rattled. Ventriloquist was now seated against Soxkt’s chest, gently pulsing him with healing Light, soothing the aches more than focusing on any one particular area.

"Nnn…." Soxkt winced, the alcohol stinging his torn lip when he failed to swallow in time. Crow pulled back apologetically.

“He’s not just saying that because you look like hell right now,” The Hunter smiled. “You are one hell of a terrifying specimen.”

Across the bar, the Captain was being treated for his wounds best he could in between his bouts of celebration, constantly twisting his arms free of his Dregs who tried to dress his wounds. The bar cheered with him, in the highest of spirits, full of chattering and companionship. It was a nice change of pace. Crow flicked a stray hair from Soxkt’s sweat soaked forehead. He knew it couldn’t have been his intention to give these Eliksni a good night, united for a brief moment in victory, but he was grateful anyways.

Crow didn’t realize he had been staring at Soxkt’s face until the Warlock blinked his eyes back open (or at the one. The other was swollen shut and would be for a good while longer.)

“Are you…. okay?”

“Of course. They wouldn’t needlessly attack me. They aren’t animals.”

“No…. rematch?”

“Ha. Very funny.”

Soxkt’s mouth tried to smile but he couldn’t move past the pain of his skin stretching so he just gave a grumble sound of pain and laughed weakly at his own misfortune. He seemed to glow once more but now it was maybe the way the Light under his skin moved in the bar lights or the way the blood still coursed so fierce underneath. Either way, it was enough to make Crow avert his gaze, clearing his throat shyly.

"You know….I've only heard tales of Titans being good at fisticuffs and general punching. There a secret here I should know about you? Your whole Warlock bit is just an act, isn’t it?"

That pulled a weak smirk across Soxkt's face, fresh blood beading along his lip and painting more red down his face. He rolled his head to meet Crow’s charming gaze and brought a finger to his lips.

“Don’t… blow….my cover.”

When Crow went to fetch more ice and water to aid Ventriloquist’s efforts in healing the bruises away, Soxkt chuckled to himself once again.

“You really are such an exhausting man,” Ventriloquist huffed though his tone was good natured, “Was there no other way to show off to him?”

“Maybe,” Soxkt coughed and cringed at the pressure collapsing in on his ribs, “But....did he think I’d win?”

Ventriloquist hummed and let Soxkt wait in suspense until Crow was almost near enough to hear. “Of course. All his glimmer was riding on you.”

Crow wasn’t sure what had changed but Soxkt wasn’t so scared to meet his eyes for the rest of the night. And even in the days and weeks to come, he never found himself forced to chase the gold of his eyes. They were always there to meet his.


	10. Snooping for a Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ventriloquist, Soxkt's neurotic Ghost companion, makes a discovery during his idling

How did other Ghosts do it? To his best knowledge, other Ghosts weren’t constantly possessed with the need to examine and pry and poke their shells in places they shouldn’t. Sure, they differed in many ways, but this one always stumped him. Did other Ghosts sit idly and happily, content with their Guardian’s thoughts pouring through them? Did they happily power off for a quick snap and float in their own unconscious void? Was he special….or was his Guardian particularly exhausting?

Ventriloquist had abandoned Soxkt’s shoulder and taken to quietly circling Crow’s workshop. Crow was kind enough to let Soxkt work here alone when he went with Sigurd and Draknus to hunt. Much as he enjoyed the chase, Soxkt was starved for information on the Ascendant plane and his time spent beneath the hull of enough Gambit banks had given him a hungry curiosity for Darkness laden machinery. Ventriloquist rolled his eye. Other Guardians liked knitting. They liked, I don’t know, mediating. Soxkt had plants and cooking and then whatever this was. 

He didn’t mean to be rude but he was a Ghost not made for these long stints of not moving. Not because he was particularly adventurous- he was actually remarkably introspective and deep thinking compared to his fellow Ghost. But Soxkt’s mind was a high pressure hose that beat against and smoothed the sides of his skull and threatened to blow Ventriloquist to pieces. Even alone and able to stop thinking about things like his every action and movement and facial expression, he had other thoughts spirals to sink into like a whirlpool. Thoughts of doubt, thoughts of the system Light vs Dark, so many impossible to answer questions.

And that’s when he wasn’t thinking about boys. Or, rather, just one boy lately.

Ventriloquist lazily began to use tiny strings of Light to clean up Crow’s workbenches, gently piling together scraps and shuffling stacks of torn paper into precarious towers. He wasn’t interested originally in what anything actually was- it was the motion of cleaning that made him happiest. So when he had to scramble to save a stack of journals from toppling onto the floor, he almost didn’t linger long enough to catch the pages of what he was slotting back between the leather flaps of a dried out notebook. It was all a single word that made him pause.

“Hero”

Carefully, the tiny Ghost straightened the stacks around him and laid out the one journal, making sure to leave his gaze half on the page that had drawn him in. A few ruffles of the pages proved it to be less of a diary and more a personal thoughts recollection, scattered and peppered with notes. Notes on the Hive. Paths of the Dreaming City. Drawings and doodles of Wrathborn anatomy. And amongst all of it….things he dare not read. He couldn’t find a good enough excuse to spy on the whole work. He just needed to see enough to know the context of what he was about to get into. With that in mind, Ventriloquist braced himself and brought his full attention back to what called to him in the first place.

"My hero comes to me candy apple red, glimmer pile blue, with eyes as golden as any gun and a smile to match. He dresses in bone white and amethyst of our shared homeland and sometimes, if I am lucky, he dresses in shadow and it makes his Light shine all the brighter. He speaks with the same hands he kills with, the same precise fingers and steady palms. Maybe that is why he can articulate so well with their deadly marksmanship. Maybe that is why his tongue falters and halts and hesitates instead. I watch him study, I watch him conquer, I watch him tinker, I watch him escape to somewhere in his cloudy vision I can not peer through myself. It is awe inspiring. It is a little frightening. So I much prefer that which I rarely get to see. My hero grins with pride beneath the helmet’s visor, he laughs louder than he likes to, and his face warms with blood when he looks at me. I have been defined by gray and stone and death for far too long. I’m much happier in the colors he brings. I wish it could linger long after he’s gone. Instead, I stare at the path he treads when he walks through my door, and I watch it grow paler with every trek he makes back to me."

“Are you snooping, V?”

Ventriloquist rattles and wheels to look at Soxkt, briefly blinding him with his blue scan light. As Soxkt squints and raises a hand against the brightness, the Ghost carefully floats away from the stacks of paper, positioning himself over a half finished lure prototype.

“That’s a low blow. I was just looking for a different screw type for the base of that lure. Crow complained it rattled too much when it activated. I think you knocked the base loose from slamming it into the ground too hard.”

Soxkt turns the lure in his hand and frowns, his attention immediately captured again. Ventriloquist watches him fall back into the rhythm of work and quickly uploads the copy of the page into a personal database. Within a moment, he has two pages side by side in his projection on the table- both written in a cadence very similar with the same rough scrawl. He didn’t need to prove this to himself. The letter Soxkt found in that old house on a hill and this were obviously written by the same body. But he was looking for something else. Something he didn’t know if it was possible to find. An answer. A clue. A promise. A bit of concrete proof that could soothe his anxious neurons, could show him this was all a larger part of the Traveler’s plan, that he wasn’t a worthless mistake of a Ghost who had gone against his very nature to let his Guardian get to this point.

This was supposed to be the end, for both of them. Guardians weren’t supposed to carry this kind of knowledge. Look at Ana Bray- completely detached from her fellow Guardian family and duty, stuck in the past, bound to old projects and promises. But Soxkt was….happier. He walked lighter. He was already talking more. His faith in the Light and his dedication to fixing this system was redoubled. The more he found himself and his commitments in people, the more Soxkt stood straighter. He always saw this in Draknus and the bond they shared. But...was it strong enough to jump lifetimes? To go against the very philosophy the Traveler carried in her womb when she let the Ghosts scour the Earth for their other half? People were best as a clean slate….but did she ever consider the doubt that could supersede the mind? A doubt that rested in the bodies of the betrayed and forgotten?

The first thing Soxkt had asked of him was if he was a good person. Ventriloquist knew the honest answer he gave was a promise to walk a path much more complicated than he could have taken with his charge. He never regretted it, not once. Not through their isolation in the Reef, the perils of the Red War, the fall of the prince and his barons, none of it. But….could he earnestly say he ever imagined a happy ending for them? That one day, Soxkt might answer his own question with a resounding ‘yes’?

His radar pinged. Ventriloquist closed the projection and quickly floated over, hiding in Soxkt’s collar, swirling into the bunched up fabric.

“He’s back.” He whispered. Soxkt didn’t openly respond but Ventriloquist could feel his heart rate spike, see his pupils widen, feel the way his breathing switched to a manual process instead of automatic. The Guardian nodded minutely. Ventriloquist felt his pulse beat under his neck.

“Hey, Soxkt?” The Ghost asked.

A small grunt for a reply and a quick glance at the shadow stretching in the entryway.

“How’re we doing?”

Soxkt watched the shadow linger and dropped his gaze again, grabbing a screwdriver and beginning to undo the base of the lure, whispering distractedly as he worked.

“We’re….we’re okay.”  


And Ventriloquist finally believed him.


	11. Little Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now many weeks into working alongside the Guardian, Crow relishes the little games they play now in their comms

It took him longer than he wanted to arrive, skirting the patrols of corsairs that walked the city’s beaches now in the hour of the curse’s greatest onset. The bulbs of inky Taken darkness helped him with cover in exchange for being forced to contend with their horrible whispering and scratchy fingers on his Light. By the time he had gathered his way to his perch, Soxkt was already on the winning side of a short and hard fought war. He blinked his way through the field and into cover, sinking bow shot after bow shot into the rampaging rings of acolytes forming and into the mighty crown of the knight he tangoed with.

Crow made himself comfortable, nestling into the groves of the rock formation, vanishing almost entirely from sight in the dark shadows, hidden from the white sun of the Dreaming City. The Wrathborn ending up dead wasn’t the issue. He had long gained confidence in Soxkt’s ability to finish his dirty work. It was the aftermath he was eager for.

With a last arrow shot, the monstrous Hive fell with a groan, crumbling onto the manicured grass and clean soil of the Dreaming City’s gardens. The knight’s recruits fell away to nothing and the Warlock stood to survey the carnage slowly. He was waiting too. 

Crow smiled and started the game with a flick of his finger on the comm receiver.

“Well, well. You’ve become quite adept at this. Were you trying to finish the job before I could even settle in for the show?”

Ventriloquist beeped into the comms. “He says it isn’t his fault you don’t track the Wrathborn as fast as us anymore.”

“Oh? I seem to recall a time rather recently where you would get horrendously lost without my guidance.”

“He says maybe things have changed, new light.”

Crow’s mouth quirked into a smirk. Cheeky bastard. You call a Guardian old light once and they never forget it.

“I have been handling these Wrathborn for far longer than you. I don’t suppose you’re declaring to have outmatched me in handling them?”

“He says it’s hard to compare when we don’t get our own perch to spectate in. He wants to know if you’re ever going to show off for us.”

Crow felt his heart hammer. He pressed a hand to his chest and lavished briefly in the exotic feeling before responding.

“Is this the best excuse you could come up with to worm your way out of a job?”

“No, he says it’s our best excuse to finally see what you’re made of.”

A close blow. Very impressively forward. Crow squirmed his way to sitting up straight and chewed on his lower lip, biting back the shyness that threatened to come forth and silence him. Soxkt had caught him off guard the last few times they had bantered this way. The Hero of the Red War was certainly shy but, for better or worse, Crow was finding he was quite skilled in finding the pockets of charm he hid beneath the surface. 

He also had learned that though Soxkt primarily remained mute in speech, he was not a silent man. He was full of small sounds that even made up for times when his helmet blocked off his range of facial expressions. Crow enjoyed catching them all. The snorts of barely contained laughter, the tongue clicks of disapproval, the strangely evocative grunts he gave in response to his fireteam’s conversations. Most of these sounds were just glimpsed over comms, barely heard over gunfire and boot steps, a second language the Hunters he roamed with were well versed in now. It was impressive the steps the Warlock could take to express himself in his bid to speak as few words as possible.

It was time well spent when it came to their game specifically. Crow had begun to become very familiar in the language of how the Warlock teased beyond the remarks themselves. Ventriloquist may be the willing mouthpiece but he heard so much more than the Ghost’s parroted quips. Most familiarly was a sound Crow found himself thinking of a bit too often lately; a deep chested hum, smug, one that signified an easy win on the Warlock’s side. It was throaty and warm and was usually enough to already make Crow lock his jaw in defeat. Soxkt was not immune to the pride it took in making him fall to bashful silence and that one sound was the linchpin of his victory.

If he could use that little cue to his advantage….

So Crow waited, fingers drumming on his cheek, letting dead air fill the space between their feeds until he heard the satisfied little hum that struck a match within his chest. Quickly, he braced the comm close to his mouth, forcing himself to speak the words as slow and heavy as possible, even if his pounding heart was making him near too breathless to speak.

“Are you being coy with me, Soxkt?”

A moment later, Crow flopped onto his back, tugging his hood down so it covered past his eyes, a smile splitting his face near in half. Glint puttered closer.

“Who gets the point that time?”

“Me,” Crow could feel the heat radiating off his body and wondered if he was going to scorch the Earth beneath him. He lifted the hood enough to peek at Glint, too euphoric to wallow in the embarrassment of his childlike joy. Glint seemed to squint joyfully in return.

“A good victory then?”

“I-” Crow cut himself off with a burst of laughter he only just barely got under control enough to say “-I’ve never heard him gasp before.”


	12. Hawkmoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the Traveler's hand in their lives, Soxkt and Crow begin to wonder if the bond they share is bigger than them. Soxkt looks at his past while Crow looks at their fate.

Everyone would eventually know the story of what they did here today, what they won in the name of the Light. But for now, nobody knew a thing. They didn’t know of the prophetic dreams that haunted Crow, they didn’t know of the Traveler’s familiar that led them against Savathun’s forces. They didn’t know of the gun that sat now in Soxkt’s holster. All of this would be known in due time. Stories had wills of their own and they loved to be heard.

But what else would they learn? Would they also learn of the small room Soxkt found himself, surrounded by the remnants of all things that made the tiny life of Crow? How Crow gently led him through every piece, every scrap of cloth, carefully letting Soxkt weave himself into his life? Would they know of every tiny comment they shared in, every hushed conversation as they discussed what the Traveler was trying to impart onto them as a team? Would they know of things they couldn’t put words to, the feelings that ran through them, the familiar knots being tied along the thinnest of strings? 

And would they know of tonight, their moment of victory forever to be tied to the taste of wine, the view of a hastily crafted bonfire, the smell of soil and earth and the sound of crickets ringing between their bouts of harried laughter? Soxkt hoped not. He really, really hoped not.

Hour one had been uncomfortable but in a way that made time rush by in a whirlwind on nerves and excitement. They had built the fire and begun to drink, slow at first, Crow the starter but Soxkt wasn’t far behind. It was impressive how few sips got him speaking again, even if halting. Hour two, hour three was nearly as fast. The Guardians became entrenched in their own inebriation and drunk on the freedom of this bubble of time. Their conversations were long and sprawling and rarely cohesive. The night air grew colder and they kept bumping shoulders, bumping arms, snatching moments of accidental touch again and again.

It was hour four of their celebration and time had brought Soxkt back to the slow, churning waves it always was for him. The Warlock had propped himself against a log and was staring at the ground as though peering into the very mantle of the planet.The weight on his shoulders was as much tied to his muscles as the sinew and flesh that surrounded them. The alcohol was not doing its job well of lightening his spirits as much as it should, high tolerance aside, even though it seemed to be pulling its weight more than he thought possible. He knew his good spirits were not actually thanks to the drink anyways- it was his company. That was much harder to contend with.

He was never one to let himself enjoy things if he could help it. The inherent greed of wanting something and enjoying what you held was a lot to contend with as is. But this was a situation more webbed and sticky than anything he ever encountered. The body in front of him, performing a retelling of their exciting tale with a half finished wine bottle (currently one of three), had once been a braided knot of lover and detested enemy. And then a quarry. 

Soxkt is pulled from his stupor by the curved round of the wine bottle’s bottom suddenly tilting his chin up, urged to look into the piercing Crow’s eyes. The hooded Lightbearer smiles, equal parts cheeky and searching. He is not searching for Soxkt’s guilt in tuning out his performance; his searching dives much deeper than that, dangerously deep.

“Now if this was your actual sword, I imagine I would be far too close to decapitating you to try this but...maybe this is the benefit of prop work.”

Soxkt snorts when he laughs and Crow beams with joy at dissolving the tension around them so swiftly. He deftly flips the bottle so the mouth is offering itself to Soxkt’s lips. Soxkt’s hands fill in the wry remark on the tip of his tongue.

“You can’t drink from a sword either.” He goes to reach for the neck but the Crow is giggling and he instead tilts the drink into Soxkt’s mouth for him, refusing to let him drink for himself. Soxkt marvels at the warmth- of the wine, the fire, Crow’s unashamed and unabashed charm, wielding his flirtatious intent with remarkable and sharp ease. When the muddy purple drink leaks out the corner of Soxkt’s mouth thanks to a certain Hunter’s clumsy grip, he swipes it and licks it off his thumb. Crow watches, enraptured. Soxkt finds it suddenly hard to swallow.

…

It was hour….something. He didn’t know anymore. Long enough that the roar of fire was a whimper and Crow had lost control of both legs and feet, which ended up with him on his back, constantly and loudly reassuring Soxkt he could stand if he wanted to. In between these cries, though, the sound was dominated by the earth. The crickets, the wind, the creak of the wreckage they took partial shelter in that had long ago succumbed back to the dirt and foliage, a strangely repetitive hollow sound that he couldn’t quiet place.

All the bottles were empty. Time creeped to a crawl and the night seemed content to drag on forever. Soxkt found himself back in the warm patch of dirt he had placed himself in earlier. He pushed the embers with the tip of his sword in the bonfire, kicking up dust and watching it shroud the fire in a hazy blush. His head thrums. He has an urge to throw the letter that never left his person since he got it into the fire. But he knows the fire would only crawl up the tether he tried to burn and the flames would consume him as well.

He wants. He wants. He wants so bad. He doesn’t know if it’s his body, crying, pained, anguished, longing for something he can’t remember. He doesn’t know if it’s his heart weary and reaching as it always did for a hand to hold if only for a night. His mind certainly wasn’t the culprit as it hailed him endlessly with memories that seeked to strangle the desire out of him.

It was something harder to ignore. It was his Light, not rampant and erratic like every other part of him in its want but a singular point, stretching tight, pulling him to the body that comfortably lay in the dark.

Crow’s voice dances on the quiet surrounding them.

“I mentioned I dreamed of you and me, the Hawkmoon, radiant with Light. It's why I wanted you to come with me to do this, above the other good reasons I had. You know. Your good eye, your aim, your many acclaims. But...I didn't tell quite the whole truth." 

Soxkt paused, ignoring the sputtering licks of fire on the end of his sword. The sound happens again and this time he catches it. It’s Crow throwing a pebble perfectly into a hollowed out section of a tree and catching it when it ricochets back into his palm. For a lightweight unable to stand now, he certainly maintains some dexterity.

"It's not the first dream I had of you,” Crow continues, “Or, at least, of things that make me think of you. It's all so abstract. In my flights, I would glimpse things that made my chest ache and… long. Not the longing of the Wrathborns, not that twisted thing. It was innocent, and gentle, yet weighed heavier than anything I’ve ever felt before. It threatened to ground me at times. And sometimes when I look at you…”

Crow squirms, the smooth stone rolling around his fingers as he tries to glimpse at the silent Warlock, pausing in his anxious fidgeting. The cooling flames barely illuminate Soxkt’s face but his eyes’ light is stronger than the fires and Crow can barely make out the look around them. Attentive. Listening. Beyond that, it’s impossible to tell. He’s gotten this far and the alcohol dulls his senses and Glint is too eager to join in Ventriloquist's lengthy theoreticals to talk him out of this. He breathes in deep and stares back up at the stars.

"Glint...Glint doesn't want me to discuss this with anyone. Especially you. And I'll say this- if you knew me before, really knew me, I don't want to know. I don't want you to be here because of whoever I was. I'm not too worried though. Who I was wasn't a man worth being. And you keep good company. You wouldn’t have stood by a side like his. But….it’s like something misses you more than me. Something within me that’s even greater than who I am. And I’m not sure I mind the feeling either."

“It’s in our Light.”

For some reason, it’s not shocking for Crow to hear him answer so astutely. It makes sense in a strange, cosmic way. He wasn’t given a guide on how to handle this but he figures he’s doing well enough by not screaming or crying or bursting like a sunspot. 

Maybe the alcohol really is just dulling the shock and awe this should bring. Crow calmly looks through the waters of his fate and where it ties to Soxkt and believes the waters clear. He does not fight for them to be otherwise.

Crow blindly sticks his arms straight into the air and gropes at nothing. “Come, hero, be my means of standing back up again.”

Soxkt obeys and laughs loudly when he does. He abandons his sword to the ash and sits cross legged next to where Crow lays. It’s much easier to see his face now and Crow is content with the expression it carries, enough to put his desire to stand on hold. He nocks his question and draws, waiting for Soxkt to settle before firing. 

"Did you know me, Soxkt? More than most?"

The pause is long. The letter burns a hole through his chest. Soxkt sits still but eventually shrugs and shakes his head, the answer honest in its simplicity. Crow sighs hard with honest relief. Soxkt smiles back at him with a strange understanding, grateful of his blindness, the Traveler’s blessed erasing. They both rest comfortably in the empty vastness of their knowledge and the simple truth it brings. Crow breaks the silence again, though now with a very tender step.

“Do...do you feel something between us anyways?”

Soxkt is so handsome when heroic fearlessness and steel-sharpened senses are buried beneath familiar shyness. For all the lack of work his tongue puts in, he expresses so much so clearly. His jaw softens like clay, his eyebrows make his forehead crease, and heat glows off his cheeks to the ends of his ears. Crow's distracted addled mind lets him drift on a fantasy of whom Soxkt might have been once upon a non-heroic life: he pictures bakers and gardeners and bookkeepers and only stops his idle dreaming when he realizes Soxkt is moving.

More specifically, he’s nodding.

“I...I see.”

The silence is a lot less soothing- it sparks and reverbates now. He can tell Soxkt’s breathing has quickened. He’s not looking at Crow anymore- he’s looking at the stars, in the direction of where miles and miles away the Traveler rested. This tense, uncertain feeling can’t remain in this celebratory moment. Crow takes the responsibility on himself to fix it. He opened this door. It was his job to make sure he didn’t step over the threshold alone.

With an unsteady grasp, Crow takes Soxkt’s collar with a grunt, twisting tight into the fabric. Soxkt braces himself, prepared to be the leverage Crow needs to lift himself to sitting again, palms pushing into the dirt. But the Crow does not try to bring himself up again, not lifting an inch, perfectly content in where he’s sprawled on his back in the leaves and soil.

Instead, he brings the Guardian down on top of him.

Crow tastes strongly of, what else, wine. Soxkt knows he must taste the same. He holds onto the taste, sweet and bitter and blackberry fermentation on his tongue, and it is the one thing that keeps him from erupting into thousands of Light particles to be collected and pieced together again like the feathers they worked so hard to gather. Crow is smiling into the kiss- he can feel the edges of his mouth twitch in their strain to convey whatever joy he was feeling. He is soft. So soft. The kiss lasts maybe five seconds. It’s long enough to force the feeling to linger on their mouths, even when split apart once again.

The Crow wrenches him away, still clung to the robe front. His face, previously flushed, is near Solar bright now. The smile is gone from his lips but it lives on in his golden eyes, feverishly warm, sparkling with mischief.

“Sorry.” He breathes and then, after a few gasps, shakes his head, fully knocking away the hood that still tried to frame him. “No, I’m not, actually. I’ve been wanting to do that all night. And....to be frank, I think you wanted me to as well.” The hand relents on the collar, though the fingers linger. “Was…. I wrong?”

Soxkt watches Crow’s face, the elation already restraining itself, bracing for rejection, beginning to imagine the shape of his wounded heart. Soxkt realizes watching him for the first time in a long time he has no clue what his own face must look like, what expression he must be wearing, or what feeling he is obviously broadcasting. The thought is staggering. He can’t even see within himself, not from obstruction but from a clarity so clear, it was invisible to the naked eye. Soxkt pushed against the safety net of his mind but there was no net, no thoughts to lose himself in, no drowning tide of emotions coming to meet his shores. The wheel in his mind had stopped churning. Like years ago, when his heart and mind lost under the agony of a prince’s death, there was no more splintering, no more cracks to precede the shatter. That kiss was the final break and now everything...had stopped.

Soxkt’s jaw unclenched and hung loose. He felt like talking. He...felt free.

He stared down at Crow and leaped into the open recess of his heart with eyes wide.

“You should do that again.”

It didn’t need to be said twice.

Everyone would eventually know the story of what they did here today, what they won in the name of the Light. But for now, and hopefully for a long while longer, nobody would know about this.


	13. A New Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This moment in time must end eventually as the Hive Celebrant appears between their crosshairs. But this hero of the red war, savior of the Traveler, is not so eager to let this happy feeling be over so swiftly.

If it was supposed to be something more than this, they didn’t know it yet. If it was supposed to be more than breathless looks, giddy eyes that couldn’t look away fast enough, they couldn’t fathom it. Was there supposed to be more to gain than the way his Light touched his and the way they melted together? It smelled like a storm, like the way sugar blackened and crystalized under a flame, like the heat death of a star far far away. It all burned just as hot and the coldness of being alone shocked their systems like an ice bath and plunged them to freezing depths.

Crow knew he shouldn’t. He knew better. He was too green, too new in the world of having others in his life. Like the empty wine bottles he cleaned out alone, stepping in too deep too fast would set him up to fall on his ass every time. But what was he to do? Soxkt looked so pretty with hair tucked behind his ear. Soxkt could kiss in ways he never knew mouths could interlock and it left him dizzy, floating, grabbing onto him just not to fall. Soxkt brought him photos and every one was a promise that it was only a glimpse, a taste, a teaser before he could view it in front of his own nose. His golden eyes were always set when he said it- he saved his sweet nothings for things far less important. When it came to freedom, when it came to letting Crow free, it was only truth. Sometimes clumsy. Sometimes rough in his mouth. Crow didn’t mind. He had lifetimes to try and find patience. It could wait to be found.

Soxkt knew he shouldn’t. He knew better than most. The letter was no longer on his person in case wandering hands ran too far and found it. It laid at the bottom of a peace lily’s pot, under moist soil left in the light of the City’s sun. It was wrong enough to want, to covet, but for once he even had the path of his destruction laid clear before him. It was in the face Crow bore, it was in the way he spoke, in the way their hands traced pathways they shouldn’t know, couldn’t know, not now, not anymore. It gave more questions than answers. But what was he ever to do? Crow was breathtaking, war ending beautiful. He grew into his charm like an old skin and flexed it like a well used muscle. He was eager, he was bright, and he was nothing but hope in a blue bottle. Soxkt remembered a young Warlock lost and alone on the Reef and how it was enough to convince him there was nothing worth fighting for. Crow should’ve made him feel shame but again and again and again, he felt wanted in return. It was not an endless devouring, not a ravenous hunger that met his. It was what every other poor sucker must feel in the throes of something like this- something achingly fragile that begged to be broken but relented to every squeeze time and time again.

So Soxkt killed Hive and let Crow look at his violence, tempered and polished to the finest point. Crow let Soxkt look at his bareness, the emptiness of his person begging to be filled, and Soxkt believed in the promise of his shape every single time. They never put a name to it. They hardly let themselves look at it head on, lest it blind them. It was a secret. It was safe. It was just quiet words and fingers interlocking and sometimes, if they were lucky (and often they were), it was an embrace in a dark and musty corner that could’ve grown flowers by the time they released. All of it grew from blood soaked earth, the barren land of the Reef in bloom with their love, and it blossomed in the bones of the damned and the victims.

They never once forgot the end rapidly approaching them both. It never left their minds. Every day, all it did was bolster them to walk forward firmer, bolder, daring the edge to meet an end, daring themselves to walk on air or fall. It had to be one. Nor did they ever let go of the revenge that pushed them on, the death of Sagira carving their will to something greater than them. Their selfish desires only made them more willing to face the unsavory world at their feet.

Hunting the Hive Celebrant was almost a celebration of it all wrapped into one. Soxkt couldn't remember the last time he hunted, swift and deadly, with a proud heart. Every step he took, he could feel under his foot Crow's, a single line attaching them as they moved between planes, keeping them in step like a well oiled machine or a well practiced dance. 

Even when all became dire. Even when the Ascendant realm promised to take Crow for their own. It should have rooted him to the Dreaming City in panic but he smiled instead. It felt right to reach into this beautiful hell that took so much from him, climb its beautiful steps until it thrust him into the dark reality, and reclaim something for his own. He had done it once with the bow on his back. Now he did it for a Light much greater.

So if a Hive executioner could not stop them, if the very Darkness that threatened their friends and those they held close, their homes, did they truly think they'd let some mortal on a throne bar their way to a happy start? It was almost comical to think they'd braced for such an impact after all they had accomplished together.

Soxkt saved the greatest Titan to ever live from time. He saved the Traveler and her breath. He could do one more. He could save him every day if he must. 

"I choose him."

It was so much more than anyone in the room could have fathomed it being, aside from the tired old bones that built the Guardians from the inside. They lay silent, content in their watching from the ether. If they could’ve whispered like the bones of wish dragons, maybe they might have reached out to one another and shared one last moment of comfort in their shared knowing. Instead, Spider’s voice was the only voice to jut into the open on the wings of electrified air, the arc rods glowing white around the room in the hands of their Eliksni soldiers. Crow’s hand twitched to his Hawkmoon and even under the shadows of his hood, Soxkt could see him making a choice, sliding his foot over a line that he could never draw again. He looked as elated as he was scared.

The significance wasn’t all lost on Soxkt. He realized as he held the words on his scarred tongue that it would be the first time he said them or anything like them, especially so defiantly, so callously. They sparked in his mouth and the room smoldered from the tip of his tongue.

“I WANT him.”


End file.
